Me & My Old Lady
by Madame Estrella
Summary: Why won't you let me help you?" She pleaded reaching out to him in every way. "You can't save me, Harley."
1. Table For Two

**Disclaimer: Characters are property of D.C. Comics; I receive no financial gain from writing this.**

_Harleen Quinzel, Doctor of Medicine, Would Have Been Olympic Gymnast, Queen of the Nuthouse._

She scribbles these words on her notes as the Joker tells her yet another story of how he got his scars. She had been 'treating' him for five months and had heard forty-seven different versions of the truth.

She heaved a heavy sigh and looked him squarely in the eye when he'd finished.

"Why won't you let me help you?" She asked, exasperated. He frowned.

"I don't need any _help_. Well, except for getting out of this place. That would be nice." He fixed a smug grin on her and she clicked her pen closed.

"Why? Don't you like it here?" She asked sarcastically. He leaned back in his chair.

"Not really. The food is bad. They always leave the lights on. There is zero privacy and they make me talk to _you_." He replied tilting his head and waiting for her reaction.

She shook her head and glanced at her notes. His little insults hadn't bothered her for a long time. Once the staff at Arkham realized that she was the _only_ doctor he would talk to, that little barb hadn't stung any longer.

"Besides, what does my past have to do with anything?" He began and Harleen flipped back to the top page again.

This again. Of course his past wasn't important. It had absolutely nothing to do with why he was the man he is today. After all, Jokers hatch from seeds or bulbs like flowers and just appear as they are. Or wink in from some alternate dimension where everyone dresses badly and explosives grow on trees.

_Harleen Quinzel, Joker Wrangler._

She smiled at this last one and brushed a stray blonde lock behind her ear.

"What?" She heard him snap at her. She looked bemused by his expression of annoyance.

"You're not listening to me." He narrowed his eyes at her. She smiled back.

"Wake me up when it's something I haven't heard before." She replied.

"When did I become _so_ predictable?" He mumbled.

He looked away from her and chewed the inside of his cheek. For a moment a look of sadness flickered in his eyes and was gone. It was something she'd seen before, albeit rarely. The effect was always the same. She wanted to reach out to him. Touch his hand, his face. Tell him it was okay.

But he'd probably just try to rip her arm off and beat her with it, so _that_ wasn't an option.

He hadn't acted violently toward her since their first session, but the threat was always there. He'd established himself as the dominant one. He was the one who laid down the rules which was so funny since he hated rules. But, he was a Joker.

"I know you don't want to acknowledge it, but who you were does have something to do with who you are. If we find that thing in your past life that…" She began and his eyes snapped back at her and he nearly snarled when he spoke.

"That you can find one little thing that broke and fix it and I'll be cured?" He forced a laugh. "How are you going to do that, Harley? Do you have a time machine hidden here somewhere? Are you going to go back and _save_ 'little Joker' so he can't grow up to be me? I'm happy with who I am, How I am! I don't need to justify myself to you or any of your little 'shrink' friends. I don't have to answer for or apologize for who and what I am."

Harleen nodded and Joker chewed at his cheek again.

"So you should like it here." She replied. "This," she gestured about the room, "is the end result of your actions which you are clearly not sorry for."

"You don't get it." He said and lowered his gaze to the table. She lifted her notes so he couldn't read them, as he had in the past.

Harleen glanced at her watch and saw that they still had quite a bit of time left which was bad since he had already finished with the session. Now they would sit in silence until the guards came. She never ended the sessions early, even when he did this. She held out a little hope that maybe she could get him to talk again, or that waiting him out would prove something to him. His silent treatment wasn't going to wear her down and make her quit.

"What is that on your blouse?" His voice made her start and her mouth moved wordlessly as she looked down at her shirt. For a moment she felt anger well within her for falling for one of his juvenile 'made you look' jokes until she saw the spots of red.

"Damn it!" She said and wiped at dried spots on her blouse. She licked a fingertip and rubbed at them only accomplishing smearing the spots a little more. She sighed and stopped her fruitless efforts and returned her gaze to the Joker's amused one.

"So, what is it?" He asked.

"Pizza sauce or grease," she said and wondered if she could find the same blouse on clearance again.

"Well, we didn't have that today, or this month for that matter. So it's either frozen or delivery." He said.

She arched a brow at him. Pizza? Really? He wanted to talk about pizza?

"Delivery," she replied wondering where she could go with this. You could learn a lot about people from their eating preferences. He rolled his eyes.

"From one of those mass marketed nationwide places that all taste the same no doubt. So vanilla, like you." He snorted.

"Actually," Harleen sat forward in her seat, leaning a bit over the table toward him. "It was from DiSalvo's." He made a face.

"Not as good as Moretti's." He scoffed. She smiled.

"Really? I never liked the crust on Moretti's, way too soft. But not as bad as Mario's." She prodded. He nodded.

"Never done in the middle," he replied.

They conversed about pizza, glorious pizza for the rest of the session. By the end, Harleen's stomach was growling and she'd almost forgotten about the mess it had made of her shirt.

And she got a brand new scar story out of him.

"Pizza cutter, huh? And after that you still like Moretti's." She laughed.

"I don't hold a grudge." He shrugged and chuckled as the guard knocked and opened the door. In the way only he could do, Joker composed himself and glared at the guard who began escorting him from the room.

He stopped just before the door and glanced back at her.

"You can't save me, Harley." He said in his serious manner.

"Move it, Chuckles." The guard barked and then he and the Joker were gone.

She stood and exited the room behind them, glancing down the hall to watch the guard and Joker as they retreated. She still marveled at how slim he was and how, tall as he was, it made him seem even taller.

She returned to her office and tore the page from her notes with all her silly titles, balled it up and unceremoniously dropped it in the trash. She took a seat and opened his sizable file and retrieved the various images she had collected of him and flipped through them until she found the two she was looking for.

She sat back in her seat and held them side by side.

One was of him in an interrogation room, dressed in his suit and make-up and the other he wore his standard issue red Arkham jumpsuit. In both he bore the same wistful expression she'd seen flicker across his features.

He was the man she wanted to save.

* * *

A/N: The image I reference can be found at http:// jokerxharley. net/gallery/displayimage .php?pid =810&fullsize=1

Harleen Quinzel is based on the likeness of actress Abbie Cornish.


	2. Web of Lies

Harleen sat on the floor of her bedroom with her back against the bed. Her long, light-blonde hair hung loose around her in waves and she twisted a lock of it around her index finger while staring at the wall.

Since her last session with the Joker she had poured over her notes, scribbling bits and pieces on a separate notepad and not quite making the connections she knew were there.

Not everything he had told her was a lie, she knew that much. It was discerning the truth from the lies and what the lies represented that frustrated her. In his mind, everything he told was the truth, at least at that moment. He'd passed a dozen polygraph tests, each time telling a different story.

The only straight facts he told were the ones which were common knowledge. He couldn't say that he hadn't blown up Gotham General Hospital. In fact, he was proud of it. That and everything else he'd done to drive terror into the citizens of Gotham in order to make them see 'the truth.' Reality as He saw it.

So she had brought him home with her.

Five file boxes worth of 'information' about the Joker. She knew that doing this at Arkham would only produce an exhibit which the staff members would trip over themselves to see. People would talk about it and word would get back to the Joker that Harleen had constructed it. And he would be furious.

To the untrained eye, it looked like a shrine to some pop culture figure that a lovesick teenage girl built in her bedroom. It was nothing different than what other professionals did in their line of work, police had their murder rooms; Harleen had the Joker's mind.

An assortment of photographs, newspaper articles, post-it notes, city maps and push pins adorned the vacant space which greeted her when she woke. She had also used a thin purple yarn to attach key points to one another, creating a web from the facts and his 'truths'. It was a chaotic mess, ever changing as new insights revealed themselves.

Harleen unwound her finger and picked up her cup of coffee. She stood in her pink pajama pants and cami and walked the length of the wall again.

In her time with the Joker, she had conducted a series of interviews with his victims and former associates as well as enemies. These people came crawling from the woodwork once he was caught and everyone assumed he would get the death penalty. No one had expected that he would actually be placed at Arkham. It was theorized that he was merely 'playing the crazy card' to get out of capital punishment.

Harleen suspected as much herself. However, she also realized that the man truly was suffering from severe mental illness no matter how much he cried sane. Harleen knew it was a blow to his ego.

If people thought he was sane, then his actions, He would be taken more seriously. He wanted to make a major social impact and he couldn't do that if people just thought of him as some crazy guy in a clown getup.

Her research had been successful to a point. She had traced him back to when the Joker first appeared in Gotham three years ago, not long before Batman came along. At first he was just some guy with scars on his face and had a different name for every day of the week except that he was also called Joker. His injuries had been new at the time and he began to adopt the clown persona he'd hewn so well in the present.

He had carefully crafted his persona. Joker knew a lot about clowns as he had gone on at length about them in a few of their early sessions. That had been when he'd started calling her Harley, for the bad joke of a name which had haunted her from the cradle.

"_Why do you suppose people give their kids stupid, embarrassing names, Harley?"_ He'd asked her then. She had never been able to give him a good explanation. It was something she planned on bringing up to her parents this Chanukah.

"_Harlequin was a man, you know."_ He'd smirked.

Harleen took a sip of her cold coffee and set it on the dresser before scanning the wall again. She stopped and touched her favored photograph of him.

"Who are you?" She asked quietly, as if reaching out and talking to this image would make him speak.

He was an amalgamation of traditional clown archetypes. He was a trickster and a haunting reflection of the inner darkness of society. He wore a suit complete with topcoat and tie and had a commanding presence; you could not help but notice him.

Yet he had gone by unnoticed for some time. When he staged his crimes he wore his suit and make-up. When he planned them and otherwise went about his business, he was like any other guy. Just a guy with unfortunate scars which people would look away from and allow him to pass by. No one wanted to look at him or know why he had those scars.

As the Joker, he _made_ them look. He told them what they didn't want to hear. He turned their unease into fear and shame. He was as ugly on the outside as they were within to various degrees. Everyone has a little madness inside them.

Harleen picked up a stapled document from the bed and scanned it with her clear blue eyes. It was the most recent test results she'd had performed on him. Hair, blood and urinalysis; she'd wanted the results before her next session with him, which was the following morning.

When the Joker was captured, he'd been as high as a kite. An appreciable amount of cocaine, heroin, THC and alcohol had been in his system. His withdrawal had been horrible, both for himself and the staff. His former doctors had dismissed the drugs as a mere consequence of his criminal lifestyle.

Harleen had seen things differently. His drug abuse had told her a story of a sick man who was self-medicating with what he could get his hands on. Her peers dismissed this theory as well stating that a man who was self-medicating wouldn't flush his medicine the way the Joker did.

They had been wrong.

Once Harleen had taken over his case, she'd begun having him tested on a regular basis. She had been surprised at first and then validated once she looked over his history.

Joker _was_ taking his medication, though not as prescribed.

After two weeks she'd found high levels of a drug he hadn't been given in two months. After that she saw peaks and valleys as well as consistent amounts of medications as she had been prescribing. He was hoarding specific medications while he took others and flushed some altogether. He was still self-medicating, only with better substances than he could obtain on the street.

She hadn't had his cell searched once she discovered what he'd been up to. No doubt he had the pills hidden in there somewhere, but she wasn't going to provoke him in any way which would cause him to stop taking medication altogether. Then he'd be back to square one, and nobody wanted that to happen.

He knew she was on to him. He never said so, but he never resisted testing and would complain about whatever medication he'd eighty-sixed. Otherwise, he was happy with their 'arrangement;' she hadn't reported him or changed how his medication was administered. She would make adjustments accordingly and he would go about his business.

With a final glance at the encircled word at the center of his mind, "Chaos," Harleen switched off the light and tucked herself into bed. The ambient light bathed his mind eerily, but she felt that was just another representation.

Chaos was where she would find him.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for your reviews and readership!


	3. Tilt A Whirl

Harleen sat in the back row of seats of the darkened lecture hall. She scribbled a few notes as the speaker talked and glanced at the slides. The subject matter was interesting and the more the man spoke, the better she understood the papers she'd read the previous evening.

After her last session with the Joker, Harleen decided to better educate herself on the subject of chaos. He had shamed her, made her feel stupid, inferior. He had brought her to tears and then laughed at her.

He'd been excited during the encounter. He was livelier than usual and couldn't seem to sit still in his chair, tapping out irregular rhythms on the table with his fingertips. He relished tearing her down. The glint in his eyes and malicious grin had been too much for her to bear.

Once he'd been led from the room, she'd hurled her clipboard across it, the wooden plate smashing against the wall and clattering to the floor while the papers fell about in disarray.

And then he'd started laughing. She had closed her eyes as more tears fell as if she could shut out that sound, his voice and the sadistic glee in it.

She had left work early that afternoon and gone home to lick her wounds. A long soak in the bathtub and half a bottle of wine later and she was sitting up against her headboard, scanning through articles on the internet.

Apparently there was a large community of so-called anarchists online and each one had his or her own manifesto. They all decried the morals of society and the laws of their oppressive governments.

"_The only sensible way to live in this world is without rules." He'd said leaning in toward her. "And it's those rules which keep you in your boring little vanilla existence, all safe and sound in your reality. You make me sick"_

More of the same came with each click of the mouse. Then she found the Joker's fan club, a niche of people who took the Joker's crimes and words as gospel. 'An Agent of Chaos', a prophet in a purple coat. She sighed and closed the browser and glanced up at the Joker's mind on her wall.

Those people had no idea who they were emulating. _She_ didn't really know, and she'd spent more time with him than anyone else.

She opened a new browser and logged into the Gotham University LitServ. She began searching the academic archives for legitimate sources of information on the subject.

The people on this browser weren't crazy. They weren't trading homemade bomb recipes and quoting song lyrics from goth and metal bands. Or singing praises of people like the Joker.

Chaos theory had more applications than she had imagined. She keyed in on articles studying chaos in psychology and cross referenced them with the Joker's phraseology.

What came up was a series of six articles by the same man. A University of Chicago graduate student named Jack Napier.

She read through each one and felt a chill run through her which became excitement. She unknowingly grinned as she printed copies of each article. She opened another browser and logged into a travel site and booked a ticket.

The following morning, Harleen was on a flight to Chicago. She hadn't slept but felt energized nonetheless. Either this Jack Napier knew the Joker personally or knew enough about him for her to get some more solids leads. Once she knew who he really was, then she would have some leverage and finally be able to make some progress with him.

Harleen reached the office of Professor Leon Edwards just after noon. His secretary Beth, a short frumpy woman with gray hairs and a suspicious look on her face, received her.

"I don't have you down as having an appointment with Professor Edwards, Miss Quinzel." She said eying Harleen.

Harleen ran her fingers through her loose blonde hair and adjusted her black framed-glasses and fixed a pleasant smile on her lips.

"It's Doctor Quinzel," she replied, "and I don't have an appointment. I just came in from Gotham this morning and it is important that I speak with Professor Edwards right away."

"Is there some sort of mathematical emergency of which I am unaware?" Beth snapped. Harleen frowned slightly and realized that it wasn't just professors at Gotham University who had hag secretaries. In every case, they all regarded Harleen in the same manner, as if their judgmental squints could see the heart of a harlot within her.

"No, it's not a world crisis," Harleen smiled feeling her teeth clench slightly. "If Professor Edwards is unavailable, could I speak with one of his students?" Harleen glanced at her notepad. "Mr. Jack Napier?"

Beth seemed to sink back in her chair at the mention of the name. She blinked several times and looked a little frazzled. She glanced at her computer screen and clicked on her mouse.

"Professor Edwards has a class until two o'clock in room 201 of Kersten Hall. You may be able to speak with him afterward." Beth clipped and then picked up the phone and dialed a number. "If you'd excuse me, _Doctor_ Quinzel, I have work to do."

"Thank you." Harleen smiled and exited the office.

A brisk walk and a cup of coffee later and there she was, sitting in the lecture hall listening to Professor Edwards as he taught.

Beth's behavior at the mention of Jack Napier's name had stricken Harleen as suspicious. The sudden about-face and urgency to get Harleen out of the room piqued her curiosity.

She had decided to meet with Jack Napier's advisor before seeking him out herself. She didn't want to spook the man, as having a psychiatrist fly in from the coast just to talk to him might very well do.

As she'd read over the articles again on the plane, she'd wondered what Jack would be like. Would he be the shy academic type, or the reclusive genius, or just an average guy with some amazing theories about life and the universe? And how was he associated with the Joker, or was he at all?

She just hoped that he wouldn't treat her like an imbecile, like the Joker had.

Class let out a short time later and Harleen waded through the retreating crowd of students toward their teacher. She stood quietly and adjusted her brown thigh-length jacket as she waited for the students to ask their questions.

Professor Edwards was a balding man in his sixties. He was fit for his age and seemed a man of good humor, with a nice smile and wrinkles which told of a life of happiness. He was a man in his element, one who loved what he did.

He spied her and she smiled as she approached him.

"Professor Edwards? Hello, I am Doctor Harleen Quinzel." She said extending her free hand, as the other held her briefcase. He lifted his brows and his hazy green eyes took her in as they shook hands. Harleen didn't react to this as she knew her looks were one of her strong suits.

Her looks, her flirty behavior, her sometimes juvenile sense of humor all helped but her mind was her 'secret weapon'. No one who looked at her expected her to be smart. They just regarded her as an airy bubblehead with a nice body and an easy way about her.

"Hello Doctor Quinzel." He said in a pleasant voice with a little laugh. "How may I help you?"

"Well, your secretary told me you were busy, but I thought I might ask you a few questions." She said.

"I may not be as busy as Mrs. Wright might think." He said and chuckled. "Ask me whatever you like, uh, is it Harleen?"

"Yes," she nodded, "but call me Harley, everyone else does."

Harleen began the trek back to Professor Edwards' office through the fall winds of Chicago. Unlike Gotham, the wind here was much fiercer and she pulled her jacket tightly around her. She asked a few questions about the lecture as she followed Edwards and he happily answered in a way she understood without being condescending.

They passed Beth Wright, who eyed Harleen again as Edwards asked her to get them coffee, on the way to his office where she sat across from him at a small table by the window.

"You never said where you were from, Harley." Edwards said as he accepted his cup of coffee from his secretary. Harleen took hers and smiled wistfully.

"I'm from Gotham. I just came here this morning," she sighed beginning to feel nervous and a little silly. She took another drink of her coffee and set it on the table before leveling her gaze with his.

"I am a psychiatrist and I work at Arkham Asylum," she said cutting to the chase. He raised his brows and nodded thoughtfully.

"Yes, chaos theory does have some practical applications in psychiatry, particularly when dealing with epilepsy and…" he said.

"Schizophrenia" Harleen finished for him. She wrung her fingers and it did not go unnoticed by Edwards.

"I'm here because I read some articles by one of your graduate students and I wanted to interview him. However, I thought I should approach you first so I didn't…" she began but couldn't find the words.

"Scare him off?" Edwards replied smiling. Harleen nodded. Edwards nodded and looked down at his cup and slowly rotated it.

"I know who you're here to see." He said quietly, his voice changing slightly, almost mournful. He blinked a few times and stood, crossing the room to his desk from which he retrieved an accordion file.

He returned and set the file on the table before removing the elastic closure. He then returned his gaze to Harleen who stared back pensively.

"Who told you to come here and talk to Jack?" He asked, keeping his hand on the file.

"No one" Harleen replied, drawing a breath. "I have a patient who is, he has an obsession with chaos. I did some research into the things he said and it led me to Mr. Napier's articles. Can't I talk to him?" She asked knitting her brows.

Edwards opened the file and glanced in while thumbing through some documents. He retrieved a piece of paper and met Harleen's gaze.

"You already have." He replied as he slid the paper in front of her.

It was a photograph. Harleen pulled it closer with her fingertips before picking it up. Her breath caught in her chest. She felt dizzy as she looked at the image of a young man standing before a chalkboard. His face was set in determination as he was about to write something on the board but was frozen in time. To his left, just at the edge of the picture, an object was taped to the chalkboard.

It was a Joker card.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for reading and continuing to follow this story! I'm happy you enjoy it.


	4. The Chaos Variable

Harleen knew before entering the therapy room that he would have something to say about their last session. There would be questions and teasing while he tried to wear her down and reveal details of her personal life.

She had been largely successful in warding off the Joker's prying words and eyes as he tried to glimpse the woman behind her therapist façade. With him it was more difficult than any other patient she had worked with. To some extent a therapist will engage small details of their lives to relate with their patients to demonstrate that they had empathy toward them in a way to instill trust.

Trust is integral to the therapeutic process. If a patient can not trust their doctor, then they will resist treatment and progress will never be made.

With the Joker, Harleen had read, anyone who tried to engage the man was subjected to mind games and manipulation. More people had dropped the man as a patient before he could get too far, unlike the four unfortunate souls who had become his victims.

He was waiting with a smug look on his face, as usual, when she entered the room. His hazel eyes were lit with mischief and told Harleen that he had come up with another clever icebreaker.

"Ever notice how 'therapist' easily becomes 'the rapist'? Why do you suppose that is, Harley? Is that what you do, rape people's minds? You dig and penetrate to find that vulnerable piece and exploit it, asserting power over the victim (coughs) patient at hand." He said narrowing his eyes at her as he leaned back in his seat. It was a position he took when he thought he was in control of the situation.

"_Jack had problems before he became the Joker."_ Edwards had told her six days before in his office. Harleen had not returned to Gotham empty-handed.

"By your definition you would make an excellent therapist." Harleen replied deadpan and then set her clipboard on the table as she sat down.

Joker narrowed his eyes and seemed to be gauging her reaction. Unhappy with her response he would invariably attack from a different point. Such were his rules of engagement.

"Did you enjoy your little _trip_?" He asked leering at her.

Leland had already told Harleen that the Joker knew she'd gone to Chicago. He'd prodded guards and orderlies at the first sign of her absence. She was sure it was because he was unhappy that she wasn't there after their last session. He'd probably been looking forward to further tormenting her while her wounds were still fresh. When he learned she wasn't at Arkham, Leland said he'd seemed deflated. Like a child whose favorite toy had been taken from him for reasons he did not understand. When he'd found out that she'd gone to Chicago, he'd beaten the guard's head into the wall fracturing his face in four places.

She blinked at him and then unclipped a college 'blue-book' from her board and slid it toward him.

"What is this?" He said in a low tone, not looking at her. He leaned forward and picked the thin booklet up and glanced at the front page before flipping through it, disinterested.

"A souvenir I picked up for you, I hope you like it," she fixed a mischievous smile on her face.

He looked up at her and his eyes penetrated her with a menacing glare. He slammed the book back down on the table and moved to stand. Harleen got to her feet and poised her hand over the 'panic button.' The mood was tense and the two stared at each other across the table waiting for the other to make a move. Jokers' eyes softened and he smiled in a way he thought was pleasant.

"Well _thank you_ Harley. Why don't you come over here and I'll show you how much I appreciate it." He said mockingly. He snatched the booklet up from the table and it crunched up in his hand.

Harleen felt caught in his gaze like a deer in the headlights. She had known that his response to her 'gift' wouldn't be one of gratitude but she didn't know what to do next. She could push the button and the guards would come for him and he'd spend a week in solitary. Or she could step away and hope that he didn't kill her.

She took a settling breath and made her decision.

Her fingers curled into her palm and she moved her hand to her side as tears welled in her eyes. She forced a smile that was more like a wince and walked around the table toward him.

He remained still, his dark eyes following her around the table until she stood before him. Fear clenched like a fist in her stomach, she was still afraid of him. Like most citizens of Gotham, she had been stricken with fear by his actions a year before. She had been terrified with what had happened at Gotham General, something that had taken her a long time to work through. She'd been scared when he'd attacked her during their first session, but that had happened so quickly, it was over before she'd even been able to process what had happened. Her animal reflexes had taken hold and within minutes he'd been dragged from the room.

Even without his make-up, the expression he bore was terrifying. He was Joker and like an idiot she was walking right into his reach.

He laughed and dropped the booklet as he grabbed her and shoved her against the table. The edge caught her lower back with a sharp pain and she gasped as he shoved her down upon it and struck her across the face.

Then he placed both of his hands around her throat and began choking her.

He smiled without mirth as he did his work and moved with her movements to keep himself in her line of sight.

"Look at me!" He growled a few times as she tried to tear away his hands by gripping his wrists. Her legs flailed uselessly as he stood between them. Her struggle became less so and finally she just lay there as he relaxed his grip and she gasped.

Just like their first time.

Tears spilled out of Harleen's eyes as she raised a limp hand toward the Joker's face. He drew away slightly and then allowed her to touch him. She traced the scars on his face slightly before letting her hand drop back to her side.

"I wanted to know what they felt like." She said in a quiet voice and then she closed her eyes. Joker stood over her for a moment before grabbing her by her white lab coat and shoving her to the floor where she rolled to her knees and touched her throat.

Joker kicked her in the side and she collapsed to the ground, now crying. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her feet as he pushed her back and then slammed her into the wall. Her head bounced violently and she cried out. He leaned close to her, shushing her before speaking to her in a low voice, murmuring in her ear.

"You've gone and opened Pandora's Box, Harley." He said quietly. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, her throat hurt.

"I closed it just as quickly," she whimpered as fresh tears spilled from her eyes. "You said I could never understand life as you knew it, that I wasn't smart enough. So I tried to find someone who was."

His breath was hot on her skin and she sank against the wall, out of his grip and he let her fall to the ground like a crumpled doll. She opened her eyes and looked up at him as he stared down, an amused expression changing his features. He began to laugh and this time it wasn't the angry growl it had been before.

He knelt and slid his arms around her and lifted her to her feet, holding her so that she couldn't quite stand. His hold tightened around her and her breath caught in her chest as if he would squeeze the life from her. There was no use in begging him off, she knew better.

"Did you find him, Harley?" He asked teasingly.

She slid her arms up his and around his neck, pulling herself up and easing some of his constriction. His eyes still shone with the kind of thrill he derived from causing pain in others. She pulled her arms tighter and laid her head against his shoulder.

Anyone walking in on them at that moment would have seen a lover's embrace. A man and a woman holding one another, gazing into each others eyes as they were drawn into a kiss.

This was not their reality.

"I found some words in a notebook and that card," she replied breathlessly tilting her head toward the table.

He turned his head and then carried her to the table and set her upon it, releasing her. She slumped over; her arms limp at her sides as she drew deep breaths. He grabbed her clipboard and pulled the playing card out from beneath the clasp.

The same card she'd seen him next to in the old photograph, before he ever had those scars.

A Joker card with the words _"The Chaos Variable"_ scrawled across it.

"You were right," she said quietly. She looked up at his face and met his eyes. "Who you were isn't important because that man is never coming back." She stood gingerly and pulled the card from his fingers and held it up.

"This is what you are now. I get the joke." She said and forced a smiled and a laugh as she picked up the booklet and her clipboard. She looked back at him and at his expression, she began to really laugh.

She kept laughing as she left the room.


	5. In My Room

Ryan Woods had been working at Arkham for eleven years and in all his time there had never seen the guards lash out at any of the prisoners the way they did the Joker. Sure, people got beat up, that sort of thing happens in any correctional facility. The crazies just weren't as much sport as the inmates at Blackgate, until the Joker came along.

Ryan stood outside the Joker's cell, with his radio in his hand and an orderly beside him as he looked through the small window.

The Joker lay face down on the floor, seemingly unconscious. Enough people had made the mistake before him to have the door opened only to be attacked by the insane clown. He pressed the button on the intercom.

"Morning, Chuckles." He said keeping an eye on the Joker who still lay on the floor.

"Breakfast is getting cold; you know the drill, get on the bunk or no food." He said feeling like someone trying to reason with a caged tiger. The Joker didn't move and Ryan sighed and shook his head.

"Guess you should take that back to the kitchen." Ryan nodded to the orderly. He escorted the man back to the guard cage and then allowed him to leave the maximum security block. He entered the cage and took a seat beside Chad, who was playing with a DS instead of watching the monitors.

"How long has he been down?" He asked.

"Who?"

"Joker."

"Hmm," Chad paused the game and glanced at the monitor showing the Joker's cell. "Since sometime last night, the night shift tucked him in and the guy's been like a rock."

Ryan shook his head. His doctor would be pissed that he'd been beaten this badly, again. She had some weird attachment with the guy and got her panties in a bunch when the guards got rough with him.

"What did he say?" He asked. The Joker's mouth had always gotten him into trouble at Arkham, and judging by the scars on his face, quite a few times in his past as well.

"He was talking dirty to Briggs and you know how Briggs likes the queer talk." Chad chuckled.

"I'm gonna go wake 'Sleeping Beauty.' Call in Harris to be my second." He said and left the cage, it was a helluva way to start a shift.

A few minutes later the two men were being buzzed into the Joker's cell and he knelt beside the Joker and prodded his side with a baton. The Joker was unresponsive and Ryan was beginning to wonder if the guys _had_ killed him. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

He nodded to Harris and reached out to touch the Joker's neck. He felt a pulse and saw him breathing and then roughly rolled the man onto his back. He shook his shoulder and talked to him.

"Wake up, Chuckles, joke's getting old now." He snapped his fingers in front of his face and shook him again. The night shift had really done a number on the Joker, judging from the bruises on the man's face.

* * *

"Come on, you know this is going to be a nightmare with the paperwork for me if you don't get your ass up." The voice broke through the haze and Joker opened his eyes.

He winced at the bright lights and closed his eyes again, groaning. He had a headache that would kill a god.

"That's it," he heard someone standing up, moving away from him.

He rolled onto his side and gingerly touched a rib that was bruised if not broken and his breath caught in his chest. He blinked his eyes open and looked up at the two guards who now stood a few feet away from him.

He looked around, confused. The guards, white cinderblock walls, an orange jumpsuit; he scanned the room, the objects sharpening into clarity around him.

Arkham Asylum.

He carefully stood and backed up from the guards toward his bunk which he sat back down upon. Satisfied, the guards moved to the door, one turning back to address him.

"You missed breakfast, Chuckles." He said with a smirk and then was gone.

Joker propped his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands as a wave of nausea hit him. He swallowed back bile and held back what would certainly be dry heaves. He tangled his fingers in his greasy hair and pulled it enough to feel the tension against his scalp. He slid his hands through his hair over his head and around the back of his neck and dug his fingers into it.

Thinking back, he knew there had to be three, maybe four of them in the room the night before. Wailing away at him and laughing, calling him names. He'd needed it, though. Anything to take his mind off of Harley and what she'd brought him yesterday.

It was bad enough that she'd somehow gleaned enough information about him as the Joker to be supremely annoying during their sessions, but now she'd found out about his life as Jack as well, at least part of it.

She was still living the dream that he had once been a nice, upstanding member of society who'd suffered a horrible tragedy and gone insane because of it. That was the story he liked people to know. That one day, something could happen to them and they would fall into the depths of madness as well. It scared the crap out of them, and he enjoyed that.

But Harley had gone to the next level and somehow discovered his true identity. That was not acceptable in the least. Her personal mission to _better understand him_ had now opened up a can of worms he'd thought he'd thrown away.

So he had to kill her.

It was that simple.

She'd even submitted herself to him, allowed him to go about his work and choke the life out of her while enjoying the moment. He glanced at the crescent shaped wounds on his wrists from her fingernails.

And then she'd given up.

She stopped fighting him and had just stared back at him from behind her glasses with those pale blue eyes. She'd accepted her fate and fallen into complete submission. It was something he'd never experienced before.

And then she'd touched him.

He sighed and felt a twinge of pain from his bruised ribs and stood, feeling unstable at first. He found his footing and walked over to the 'bathroom' and splashed some water on his face before looking up at the plastic mirror bolted to the wall.

"_I wanted to know what they felt like."_

He shook his head as he studied his reflection. Moments of clarity were rare for him now. Usually he saw his memories as flashes and shouts of sound. He didn't want to remember. Life was more interesting to him when he was an amalgamation of images and bits of speech and feelings. Each day he was a different representation of himself. He wasn't _just Jack_. Not that anyone really knew who he was when he went by that name.

Different people saw different sides of Jack. It was the same for every other person in this world. People showed you only what they wanted you to see. They changed their selves to meet expectations of those they were around at a given time.

He had at least tried to be consistent. However, Jack the grad student at the prestigious college couldn't very well also be known as Jack the sadistic hit man as well. So there was Jack and there was the Red Hood.

Jack could try to live the life of an ordinary guy, while Red Hood could go around killing people for the money Jack needed to support that lie. It had worked out for a little while. Then they had crossed paths.

Joker touched the scars on his face, tracing them with his index finger the way Harley had. On the inside he ran his tongue over the folds of scar tissue. She could touch them, but she would never know how they _felt_.

He felt the anger building inside him and chewed the inside of his cheek. One bad day was all it took for his old life to completely fall apart. Now there was just the Joker. He snorted and grinned maliciously at himself before returning to his bunk.

Joker was a better person than Jack had been. He didn't have anything to hide because he didn't have a past. He wasn't even a _real_ person. He was _more_ than that. Joker was free from the obligations that people thought they have or the rules they had to obey. He didn't worry about anything because he had no attachments, nothing to answer for; no one to answer to.

He just had to show everyone else what that meant, then they could all be free.

And she was beginning to. Her complete surrender was only the beginning. Now all he had to do was reinforce it, keep her under his thumb. Change her into something better than Harleen Quinzel, doctor of psychiatry. The fact that she already had Jonathan Crane as an example of how simple it was to lose yourself could only help his agenda.

For her to find Jack Napier had been bad on the surface, but it had opened up a new world of possibilities for him. As quickly as Pandora had closed the box, it still wasn't fast enough and she had unleashed what it held. Harley would see that.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

Joker lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, deciphering the Rorschach images in the stained ceiling tiles when the lock buzzed and his door opened. He sat up, wincing as he moved. That headache wasn't getting any better.

A woman in a lab jacket with long, flowing blonde hair approached him holding a tray. She glanced back at the guard behind her.

"It's alright, you can leave us." She said.

"Doctor," the guard began to protest. She stopped walking at fixed a hard glare on the man.

"Okay, I'll be just outside." He said and then looked at Joker. "Behave yourself, Chuckles."

Doctor Harley snorted and approached Joker, coming to a stop before him; he smiled up at her in amusement. Her hair was down and she wasn't wearing her glasses. Her cheek was bruised and she wore a red mock-turtleneck to hide the ones on her neck.

"I've heard the phrase, knocked into next Tuesday, but it's never happened to me before." He chuckled, staring up at her. She eyed him warily.

"What happened to you?" She said, scanning his face.

"What, I always look like this." He said holding up his hands in mock surrender. She sighed heavily and took a seat beside him, setting the tray on her lap. He scooted back from her a little before realizing what he was doing.

"Why are you here?" He regarded her suspiciously. She held up a small plastic cup which held some pills.

"You haven't had your meds yet, and I hear you skipped breakfast as well." She replied. He looked at the tray; it held water, orange juice and toast.

"They have nurses for that, you know." He said mockingly and then swallowed his morning medication. He drank some water and picked up a piece of toast, tearing pieces from it and popping them into his mouth. He took in her questioning gaze with a sideward glance.

"The scars," he said with his mouth full. Her face became sympathetic and he wanted to slap her. Instead he ate knowing how the medication would affect him if he didn't.

Up close he could see that her eyes were red, like she'd been up all night crying. Unfortunately for her, she didn't have the Arkham 'turn-down' service at her disposal at home. He bet that he made her cry all the time. He snorted and smiled a little at the thought. He never realized just how much control he had over her. The past day had been a real 'breakthrough' for them.

He was always on her mind. Whether she was at work, home, or wherever else she spent her time, she thought of him. She'd even traveled halfway across the country because she couldn't get him off of her mind.

Joker's little stalker. He started laughing and she grasped his forearm and he turned to find a furious look on her face.

"What?" He balked and broke into another chuckle. She took a deep breath. She was really worked up, and he knew that something that had her _this_ upset had to be good.

"The D.A.'s office called this morning. They're coming down this afternoon." She said.

"All of them?" He said, widening his eyes with amazement and chuckled. That did it. She broke into a reluctant smile and looked away slightly and suppressed a laugh.

"Come on, if you can't laugh at an army of lawyers descending upon the nuthouse, then what can you laugh at?" He prodded. She shook her head and smiled brightly and laughed, wiping her eyes.

Making her smile was just as rewarding as making her cry. She was beautiful, he wanted to kiss her.

No, slap her. _Slap her._ She needed some sense knocked into her, and he was the guy to do it. He nodded to himself, satisfied.

"…are having a meeting with Doctor Arkham, Leland and myself this afternoon." She said. Had she been talking?

"Why?" He asked. She frowned at him.

"Your case," she replied as if talking to a child. "They scheduled another competency hearing and they wanted to talk to us beforehand."

_Why hadn't his fucking lawyer told him about this?_

"Your _fucking_ lawyer is incompetent." She said with disdain.

Had he said that out loud? How hard had they hit him in the head last night? He tilted his head and shrugged.

"Some people are like slinkies, not really good for anything but they still bring a smile to your face when you push them down a flight of stairs." He smirked.

"And you're telling me all of this why?" He asked regarding her with suspicion again. She sighed again as if all the weight in the world was on her shoulders. He wanted to shake the shit out of her.

"I felt you had the right to know. After all, you are the guy they are trying to execute." She looked at him and slipped a hand over his. He flinched but let her close her fingers around his.

"You haven't been helping yourself." She said. "I've tried time and again to get through to you but you won't let me and it frustrates me to no end."

They sat in silence for a while, her holding his hand, gently sliding her fingers across his skin.

"I was one of your _schemers_. You, of course, already knew that. You have no idea what I did to get your case. I wanted you, I thought I could learn all your dirty secrets and write a book and become someone important in my field. I was going to use you." She looked at him, tears slipping from her eyes.

"But now…" she wiped at her face with her free hand, "I care about you. Funny that."

He smiled at her. _Like shooting fish in a barrel._


	6. Danger in the Shape of Something Wild

A/N: Selina Kyle is based on the likeness of Kate Beckinsale; Joan Leland is based on the likeness of Thandie Newton.

* * *

Harleen completed the triple handspring across the floor mat and stood straight, back arched and on pointed toes as she raised her hands in the air. She heard the sound of little hands clapping and turned her head to smile at the little girls sitting cross-legged and lined up along the mat.

Saturday morning had come once again and her day was about to begin at the Gotham Academy of Gymnastics and Dance. She had been a student at the Academy when she was a young girl and eventually became an instructor there. It was her way of 'giving back' to the school that had opened so many doors for her in her life.

"Alright, ladies, time to get warmed up." A tall, leggy brunette said stepping onto the mat beside Harleen.

Selina Kyle gave Harleen a curious look, raising an eyebrow before approaching the girls. Harleen sighed, knowing _that_ look was in regard to the bruises she was sporting. Selina had been working there for a couple of years and the two women had a comfortable working relationship. They were both part-time, but very good at what they did and faced scorn from some of the other instructors which had only served to cement their easy friendship.

Harleen stepped off the mat to start the MP3 player and bounced back to stand beside Selina as "Poker Face" by Lady GaGa began to play. It was wholly inappropriate music lyrically, but the girls were too young to understand the context. It was upbeat and fun and that was what Harleen needed right now.

The women led the girls in their warm up and then floor exercises as they did every weekend. The classes began with the youngest girls and then went on with increased age and skill level as the morning progressed. In the afternoon Selina would teach Martial Arts while Harleen taught Ballet.

Once the days' classes ended and the instructors had showered was the dreaded staff meeting. That was when the ten instructors gathered in the cramped office to sneer at one another. Tensions were running particularly high this day as the regional gymnastics and dance competition was fast approaching.

Apparently some of the other 'ladies' didn't think that Harleen was carrying her weight around the Academy as of late, what with being a doctor working with the worst criminal mastermind the City had ever faced and all.

They discussed what Harleen's new schedule would be since she had taken so much time off in recent weeks. She would still be coaching at the competition, but her hours were cut back considerably. Harleen bit the inside of her lower lip so hard she thought it would bleed.

Afterward, Selina caught her arm as the women headed out the door.

"Hey, wanna get a drink?" Selina grinned. Harleen smiled.

"I couldn't think of anything better." She replied.

The women made their way to the Green Lantern Bar and took a seat at a booth along the outer wall. The food was lousy and the men were lecherous, but they liked it all the same.

"Bitches every one of them," Selina said returning from the jukebox which began playing Leslie Gore's "California Nights." She shook her head and gracefully slid onto the bench seat and fixed her soft brown eyes on Harleen.

"So what the hell happened to you?" Selina asked taking a sip of her beer, keeping her gaze on Harleen.

"I got mugged," Harleen replied, averting her gaze.

"You'd be a bad criminal, you're an awful liar." Selina nodded and smirked. "Looks an awful lot like when the Joker choked the Hell outta you. I was called in to cover your class that night, you know. I had plans too."

"With Bruce?" Harleen asked trying to change the subject.

"Nice try. So what happened? He get out of his straightjacket?" Selina prodded.

"He hasn't been in one for months," Harleen said staring at her glass on the table. "There hasn't been a need to restrain him for some time." She looked back at Selina who was staring at her open-mouthed.

"You were with him with no jacket, handcuffs, or anything? For months?" Selina balked with disbelief.

"It's easier to get him to talk when he's unrestrained. Anyway, I shouldn't be discussing this with you." Harleen folded her arms across her chest and sat back.

"You're lucky he didn't kill you." Selina said.

"Who said he did anything? Like I said, I was mugged." Harleen persisted and Selina rolled her eyes.

"Sure, muggers have a penchant for strangling their victims because guns are so overrated." Selina said sarcastically.

"I pissed him off." Harleen said in a quiet voice. Selina looked at her thoughtfully and snorted.

"I'll bet anything its sexual frustration," Selina said in a light, teasing tone. Harleen frowned back at her.

"What?" She balked. Selina laughed.

"You've been seeing each other for months now. He probably thought it was _finally_ time he made his move." Selina grinned. Harleen's mouth dropped open.

"It's _not_ like that _at all_!" Harleen cried. "He has no interest in me whatsoever! We _are not_ seeing each other! He's my patient!"

"None?" Selina's mouth twisted into a grin and her eye lit with mischief. "The guy has been locked up for over a year, Harley and you're the only woman he has any contact with. I'll bet it was like sex for him. He seems like that kind of a pervert; that he'd get off on just choking the hell out of a woman. Choking you was probably more satisfying to him than choking his…"

"Selina!" Harleen cried out, her cheeks flushed. Selina laughed.

"Next time, just go in there and crawl across the table and tell him you want to run your fingers through his nasty green hair. I'll bet he'd love it." Selina grinned and patted Harleen's hand.

"His hair isn't green anymore." Harleen said looking across the room and sighing.

"Yeah?" Selina said. "What does he look like anyway? I've only seen the pictures on the news where he's in that awful clown make-up."

"Well after the hearing next week, everyone will know." Harleen said sadly focusing on the stained-glass lampshade hanging over the pool table.

"He's blonde." Harleen said absently. "He's handsome, even with the scars. He has beautiful hazel eyes. Sometimes it's hard to think that he's the monster he really is."

"Except when he comes at you and tries to choke you to death," Selina said. Harleen sighed.

"Yeah," she said quietly. She glanced up as a young African-American woman entered the bar and looked around lost. Harleen sat up and waved.

"Joan!" She called. Selina looked around the booth wall and back at Harleen.

"She's your boss?" She asked quizzically.

"Yeah," Harleen replied scooting over making room for Joan Leland who slid in beside her.

Like the other two women, Joan was dressed in jeans and a fitted cotton tee. She fixed a pleasant smile on Selina and extended her hand.

"Hi, I'm Joan, and you must be the Selina I've heard so much about," she said cheerfully. Selina arched a brow at Harleen.

"I come up a lot at the nuthouse?" She said with a hint of sarcasm and the other two women exchanged guilty looks and then faced her again.

"Well I don't know anyone else who's dating Bruce Wayne." Harleen smirked and winked at her.

"You sure about that?" Selina snorted and smiled back. Joan looked between them uncomfortably.

"So how did you meet Bruce Wayne?" Joan asked. Selina relaxed and a soft smile played across her catlike features.

"Well, I work at this crappy coffee shop over in the Narrows and he started frequenting it a while back." She shrugged. "I tend to think it's because he liked the service." She winked. The other women laughed and Selina ordered a round of drinks.

Three rounds later and the 'ladies' were trading obscene stories about friends and ex-boyfriends as well as making narrative commentary on the other bar patrons.

"So I grabbed him by the hair and chased him out of the apartment with a hammer and locked his ass out." Harleen chuckled. Joan looked at her wide-eyed.

"And he was still naked?" She squeaked. Harleen nodded quickly and grinned.

"Yeah, the neighbors called the cops and he was arrested for indecent exposure. Heh, serves the bastard right, he thought he could screw around on me, _in my own apartment no less_." Harleen smiled at the not too distant memory.

"I knew there was a Hellcat hiding beneath that sweet exterior." Selina smiled, stirring her mojito. Harleen smiled back but paused on the inside.

_I know there's something hiding behind that coy little vanilla smile of yours,_ _Harley._ Harleen blinked the Joker's words away and turned toward Joan who was speaking.

"Well, he was nothing like that, but our relationship did crash and burn in spectacular fashion nonetheless." Joan sighed.

"What happened?" Selina asked. Joan looked at Harleen from the corner of her eye and sipped her drink before returning her gaze to Selina.

"He just wasn't the man I thought he was." Joan said and then coughed into her hand and smiled politely. "Anyway, my Grandma is after me to move back to Detroit and find a man there." Joan said shaking her head.

"She says Gotham is just full of a bunch of 'crazy white boys' who are trying to blow up the City. Like all the decent men are in Detroit." Joan said rolling her eyes.

"She does have a point there." Selina said tilting her head and sipping her drink.

"There aren't any nice guys in Gotham." Harleen mused.

"Hey, speak for yourself, toots! I found myself a billionaire." Selina laughed and poked at Harleen across the table.

"Does he make you laugh?" Harleen asked.

"He doesn't make me cry." Selina replied.

"I miss my crazy white boy." Joan said propping her elbows on the table and sighing dramatically as her chin fell into her hands.

The girls all laughed and ordered another round. Before long Selina dragged Harleen from the booth and they were dancing to the music playing on the jukebox. Selina, being the taller of the two, spun Harleen and they engaged in a drunken Tango.

"I think that guy's checking you out," Selina 'whispered' loudly in Harleen's ear, her breath heavy with alcohol.

"What guy?" Harleen said looking around; Selina grabbed her face in her hands.

"Don't be so obvious about it. Over in the corner, green suit, brown hair." Selina said. Harleen tried to glance without being _obvious_ only to see a figure retreating to the exit.

"Damn, well I suppose it wasn't meant to be, Harley." Selina giggled and hugged her tightly. "Don't worry, I still love you, baby."

"You're quite drunk." Harleen said poking Selina in the side.

* * *

Harleen leaned back in her office chair and tossed a file onto her desk and blew a breath out as she swiveled her chair and glanced out the window. She'd left the bar and come back to Arkham to sit in her office and look over the files of the other four patients she was treating.

However, being sober would probably help. She giggled and took a long drink of her coffee and stood up to stretch.

The Joker had consumed so much of her time and attention lately that she hadn't been reviewing her other cases to the extent she should have been.

Joker was a full-time job but as Doctor Arkham and the new ADA Anthony Hall had made it clear the other day, he wouldn't be for long. They too had noticed the bruises on her face and neck and Harleen had come up with her 'mugging' cover story.

She still wanted to try to get through to the Joker, keep him in the Asylum. Anywhere else he was dead; it was only a matter of time. She knew if given enough time she could get through to that part of him that was still a rational, if sick, person. She could find a way to strip him of the anger and violence which consumed the Joker.

And she would have to begin with his obsession over Batman.

Since Batman had left the scene after the Joker's capture, Joker had been despondent, like someone missing their lover. Harleen always hated the comparison, but she could not deny how Joker's eyes lit up and his mood brightened whenever someone brought up Batman.

Then there was his insistence that Batman was innocent of his crimes. He would tell anyone who would listen that Batman didn't kill anyone, insisting that if he would kill anyone it would have been Joker. Joker had endured a long recovery of the leg that Batman had broken when he shot a grappling hook though it; and he still held a bizarre affection toward the man.

"It's not every day a man finds his other half." Joker had happily told her one day.

This of course supported Harleen's assertion that Joker held no interest in her as she'd told Selina. If she could only see the way he looked when he talked about his enemy.

His obsession over Batman was boundless and he's even concocted a story that Batman's crimes had been committed by the late Harvey Dent. That he'd somehow convinced the former District Attorney to go after the people responsible for the death of his fiancée and the police had framed Batman to preserve Dent's image.

Then there was the matter that he didn't believe that Harvey Dent was really dead and was recovering in secret somewhere. Joker was sure that Dent would reemerge and wreak havoc over the City in the name of Rachel Dawes.

Joker also thought that Batman had been screwing Rachel.

Joker had told Harleen more about Batman than he had about himself.

"Aren't we supposed to talk about whatever I want to?" He'd asked innocently when Harleen had insisted that they change the subject from Batman. Then he'd gone back to talking about chaos and the evils that men do and how boring Harleen was.

He loved pushing her buttons. She smiled at the memory of the one time he'd said anything about her that could be construed as sexual.

"Nice tits. I'm sure they're real 'cause I don't think they make fake ones that small." He'd said maliciously.

Yeah, Selina, he was really interested in _her_.

"Batman and Joker sitting in a tree K I S S I N G," Harleen giggled and finished her cup of coffee. She walked over to the small, two-cup coffee maker in the corner of her office. She poured some water from a bottle into the top and flipped the switch on.

"Oh, why waste your time with him, when you could have me?" She said in a pleading voice while making a pouting face. She laughed at herself and closed her eyes.

As the brown liquid began filling the glass pot she heard the unmistakable clicking of the door latch and turned to see her office door opening.

A chill ran through her body as she watched him enter, the only sound was that of her mug as it shattered at her feet.

She had never been so sober in her life.


	7. So Tell Me Now, and I Won't Ask Again

A/N: Jeannie Napier is based on the likeness of Brittany Murphy.

* * *

He was losing his mind.

Harley had come to visit him twice a day for the rest of the past week. Each time she offered him pills with her winsome smile and he knew it was because she _cared_ about him. But something was different, something was going wrong and he couldn't place a finger on it.

His mind was racing and he couldn't sleep.

He spent more time retching his guts into the toilet than he had when he'd gone through withdrawal.

His head was dizzy and he felt little pulses, like tiny electric shocks shooting through his body whenever he made a sudden movement.

He'd never felt this way before, and he could swear that he heard _her_ voice.

"Jackie, go to sleep now," a disembodied voice whispered as a nonexistent hand swept through his hair while he lay on his side on the bed.

But sleep would not come.

He blinked and a face stared back at him. Her beautiful face was fixed with a sweet smile as it often had for him. Blue eyes and silken blonde hair and skin so soft he didn't have to touch it to know how it felt.

She had rarely smiled for him in the end, and he couldn't blame her. He'd never been very good to her, and she had deserved better. She'd been a young girl who'd fallen victim to a terrible man. Like any other, he'd used her and she had been the one who'd suffered the most.

On her knees in a blue baby doll dress in stockings and shoeless, she leaned closer and he could almost touch her. Her fingers traced the side of his face and he closed his eyes, pretending he could feel them.

She looked exactly how she had the day she'd died.

"Jeannie," he rasped and swallowed hard.

He didn't want to open his eyes and see her as she'd been when he had found her.

* * *

The night he met her she was sitting at the end of the bar talking to a friend. The place was a dive called Mickey's and Jack was there to kill the man that the pretty blonde was sitting by.

Mark O'Neil was just a name given to Jack by his boss in Gotham. He didn't ask questions or get involved any further than doing the job he was given. That was the best policy when you worked for a man like Carmine Falcone; keep your mouth shut and your nose clean.

Jack was good about both, as far as business went. He liked to talk a lot and tell jokes, mostly bad ones. It was one way to get through people's defenses. You make them laugh and just as they clap you on the shoulder to show their appreciation, you hit them in the gut with a bullet or a knife.

He watched Mark try to hit on the girls sting next to him, the forty year-old thinking he had some shot in hell with a couple of pretty young coeds. He'd been following Mark for the past day and a half, looking for an opportunity which would leave him unexposed.

Jack had been working for Falcone for six years, and doing things that society thought he ought not to for longer than that. He didn't have a criminal record because he'd been smart enough to not get caught. A lot of lesser criminals had made that mistake and the sign of an intelligent person was that they could learn from the mistakes of others.

Mark was not a smart guy. He watched the sleaze try to slip a meaty arm around the blonde and then saw her shove him hard enough that he lost his balance and fell off his stool.

Much laughter followed and Jack got up from his seat and walked over to the trio as Mark was shouting expletives and getting to his feet.

"Lissen you little bitch!" Mark said grabbing her arm. The girl cried out and Jack clapped a hand down on Mark's shoulder.

The man looked over his shoulder and up at Jack. Jack patted his shoulder and smiled at him as he pressed the muzzle of his gun into Mark's back.

"Now, now, that's no way to treat a lady." Jack said nodding his head and grinning at Mark.

Mark chuckled nervously and nodded back to him, letting the girl's arm go. Jack put his gun away and slipped his arm around Mark's shoulders and steered him around.

"Why don't we go get you a cab, buddy" Jack said nudging Mark toward the door.

Mark chuckled nervously and then stepped away from Jack and walked outside. They stepped onto the sidewalk and Jack pulled out a cigarette and lit it, then offered one to Mark. Mark waved him away and then glared at the younger man.

"The fuck you think you are?" Mark snapped. Jack laughed quietly and nodded toward the alleyway to the back parking lot.

"You okay to drive?" Jack asked innocently. Mark waved him off and stalked off into the darkness.

Jack gave him a few minutes before walking down the block and around the back way to the parking lot. He pulled the hood of his dark red jacket over his head as he approached Marks' car and knocked on the window.

"You fallen in love or something, you fucking creep." Mark spat at him. Jack raised his gun and fired twice.

* * *

"Hey!" A voice called out from behind Jack as he stood in the bus shelter. He turned and saw the pretty blonde walking toward him. She looked at her friend who stopped walking and acted like she wasn't watching as the girl reached him.

"Hey yourself" Jack smiled at her. Her face broke into a beautiful and genuine smile, the corners of her blue eyes wrinkling.

He went to bed with her. It was the same song and dance he'd done too many times before. When he left it was with the promise he would call, one he never kept.

Life went on. Jack had classes and research to do and a week later received an envelope with cash in it from Gotham City.

That evening he went out for a walk. He never went anywhere in particular and could wander for hours looking for something to do, or nothing at all. Sometimes he would get into a fight for the hell of it. Other times, he'd find someone to spend the night with.

Tonight he found himself standing on a doorstep and wondering why he was there. He saw the blue light from a television in the front room and heaved a sigh before knocking.

He knew she was standing there, deciding whether to pretend she hadn't heard him knock or to answer the door. She opened it and he smiled at her.

"What do you want?" She snapped at him. He could tell from the look in her eyes that she was both surprised and furious with him.

"Thought I'd come by and say hi." He said pleasantly. She eyed him warily over the chain lock between them. She was at least that smart.

"You should have _called_ first." She said sarcastically. He rolled his eyes and leaned against the door jamb.

"You can't hang up on me in person, Jenny." He replied and chuckled at the look on her face.

"It's Jeannie, you asshole!" She shouted and shook her head. "And here I thought you were a nice guy."

"I have no idea what I did to give you that impression." He smirked. "Either let me in or tell me to fuck off."

As the sun began to rise, he curled an arm around her and kissed her shoulder, pulling himself closer to her. She turned slightly and he touched her face as he kissed her. He liked Jeannie. She felt good beside him. She filled an emptiness he felt and he knew it wouldn't last but he wanted to be with her now.

He took her out places and spent a lot of his nights with her. They spent their time together, alone. He didn't have friends and he didn't want to get to know hers. Besides, what was the point of being with someone if you had to share their attention with someone, anyone else?

He would pick his little Kindergarten teacher up from work and take her out to dinner and then take her in the back of his car. Or in a bathroom stall, at a theater, anywhere he tried. Jeannie had a touch of wild in her she only revealed to him and he wouldn't share that with anyone else.

* * *

The day that he had to leave her came sooner than he'd expected.

"You're going back to Gotham?" She asked, dropping her fork on the plate. He glanced up at the clattering and nodded at her. She was visibly upset.

"When were you going to tell me?" She asked in a voice on the verge of tears.

"Um, now?" He snorted and took a bite and watched her while he chewed.

She wrung her fingers and wiped a tear from her cheek. He could see she was fighting with herself, the rational side which knew that he was making the right decision lost decisively. She started crying and left the table. He sighed and dropped his fork and followed her to the bedroom before she could lock him out.

He sat beside her and slipped his arms around her waist and she tried to pry them loose. He shushed her and pulled her close, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"I never said you couldn't come with me." He said quietly and kissed her ear.

"Jack! I have a job here, friends and family. I can't just get up any follow you halfway across the Country!" She cried.

"Of course you can." He replied. He didn't say anything else. He wasn't going to beg her or placate her. When she told him to leave, he did so without a word.

Breaking up with her hurt, he wasn't going to pretend that it didn't. He'd never been in a relationship with anyone before. She'd brought him so many highs that he knew the low would be bad. But ending their relationship was for the best. He had no intention of changing his life, or to marry her.

He was surprised when Jeannie showed up at the University two weeks later. Edwards' secretary had let her in.

He hated that woman. For the past couple of weeks she'd kept asking about Jeannie. _What did Jeannie think about him going back to Gotham? Were he and Jeannie thinking about getting married? _ Sometimes he thought about killing her, it would be absurdly easy to do. The meddlesome bitch liked Jeannie though, so she'd let her in.

She was wearing the cute blue baby doll dress he always liked to see her in. Her hair fell around her shoulders and she wore lipstick, but no eye make-up. Jack knew that what meant.

"Why are you here?" He asked dropping a notebook into a file box. Happily, Jeannie had learned long ago that he didn't like it when people beat around the bush.

"I'm pregnant." She said and took a breath to steel herself for his response.

He blinked back at her.

"Damn it!" He said and turned away, shoving the box off the table onto the floor. She started crying and he stood with his back to her and clenched his fists and bit the inside of his lip.

"Is everything okay?" The secretary said, poking her head into the room and looking between them. Jack glared at her and she began to retreat. Jack stalked over to Jeannie and grabbed her by the hand and dragged her out of the tiny office.

* * *

In her apartment, Jack sat on the bedroom floor with his back against the wall, knees bent and his arms resting across them. Jeannie sat on the end of the bed before him, staring at her hands and the tiny bits of tissue she tore and dropped to the floor. He had no one to blame but himself. He knew what he was doing with her and what could happen. Babies weren't accidents as much as some people would try to convince you otherwise. He'd asked the question some time ago and still waited for her to answer.

"I want it," she said suddenly looking at him. "I want to have the baby."

Of course she would, he would have been shocked had she said otherwise. Her whole life was taking care of other people's children. She would love to have one of her own. Having the father was a different story.

He licked his lips and nodded at her, unsurprised. She studied his face, waiting for him to give something away. He slowly got up and stepped over to sit on the bed, and then lay back upon it. She turned and looked at him.

"I'm still going back to Gotham." He said, looking at the ceiling. She made a whimpering sound and he held up a finger to silence her. He had already made up his mind.

"Either you come with me and have the baby in Gotham, or I'm signing away my parental rights." He said glancing up at her. Her lips trembled and finally she began bawling. She collapsed upon him, hugging him.

"Jack, I…" She tried to speak through fits of sobs.

"We're not discussing this, Jeannie. I'm going home." He said, and stroked her head gently.

"I never planned on having a family, Jean. But I'm not staying here to play house." He felt her tears through his shirt and wound a finger in her hair. He didn't like doing this, but it was what he had to do. For the first time he regretted ever meeting this woman, if only so he he'd never hurt her this way.

"Okay," she sniffed. "Okay, Jackie." She tried to compose herself and propped herself up to look at him. He slid his hand down the side of her face and wiped the tears from her cheek with his thumb.

"If that's what it takes, I'll come with you." Tears welled in her eyes again and her face screwed into a grimace.

"I love you so much," she said as her voice broke.

* * *

Jack unlocked the door to their apartment and then playfully scooped Jeannie up into his arms and carried her inside. Her laughter was like music in his ear as he set her upon the couch. She looked around, surprised.

"It's all _our stuff_." She said as he closed the door, locking it. He turned back and smiled.

"Of course it is. Why do you think we've been living in a hotel for the past week?" He said and sat beside her, kissing her. She slid her arms around his neck.

"I think I may be impressed with Wayne Enterprises yet." She said against his lips.

He moved her to the bedroom and the couple carried on like the newlyweds they were. Jack had caved to her on that point and they had been married before a Justice of the Peace before leaving Chicago. Her parents had _not_ been impressed.

"If _anything_ happens to my daughter" her father had threatened him. He'd laughed at him. Daddy's little girl had been knocked up by a mob hit man, did it get worse than that?

He'd had reasons both for and against marrying her. He didn't like the institution of marriage for being just that, marriage shouldn't be controlled by the government. Also, it would be easier for her to leave him if they weren't married. She could take the kid and go back to Chicago any time she wanted if she got tired of his crap, no strings attached.

He had married her because he wanted to. There was a part of him that wanted to play house with Jeannie.

That even loved her.

He guarded that part of himself from everyone including her. It made him weak, and in his life weakness equaled death.

That had been another large check in the 'against' box. Now he had a wife and a kid and Carmine Falcone knew it.

"Jackie, what's wrong?" She asked tracing his brow.

"Nothing" he said quietly and rolled onto his side, burying his face against her neck and pulling her naked body close to his. He slid his hand down and covered her belly with it. It wouldn't be long before there was something tangible there to feel.

* * *

"Piece of shit!" Jack yelled as he beat the fitting with a wrench and then slid out from beneath the vehicle and threw the wrench at it. It made a satisfying cracking sound and then clattered to the ground. Then he started kicking it, swearing freely.

A hand clapped down on his shoulder and he hunched forward and turned around to face the older black man.

"Take it easy, Jack." He said. Jack glared back and then looked at the other two guys who were staring back with terrified looks on their faces. He drew a breath and tried to compose himself.

"Sorry Lucius." He said in a low voice as he looked back at his boss. He was the only guy in Applied Sciences who got away with calling him that. He glared at the Tumbler and walked away from it before he started dismantling it. Surely there was a rocket launcher or something around there he could use to just blow up the piece of shit.

"For some reason I think there is something more to this anger than the bridging mechanism." Lucius prodded in his grandfatherly way which annoyed the piss out of Jack.

"Jeannie's having some, complications." Jack replied sinking heavily into his chair.

Jeannie was a fucking lunatic. Pregnancy had not been kind to her and she'd been having mood swings rivaling those of Jack's. Coupling those with the fact that she hated living in Gotham for the fact that it wasn't Chicago and it was safe to say that the Napier home wasn't the happiest one. As a result, Jack had been spending more time at work, at _both_ of his jobs.

_Now_ Jeannie thought he was having an affair.

"I'm sorry to hear that. What did the doctor say?" Fox asked. Jack picked up a pen and began clicking it open and closed.

He didn't know. He had missed all of the appointments Jeannie had gone to. Mostly it was poor scheduling and Jack's inability to take time off since he was new at work. The fucking corporate policy wouldn't give him time away to spend with his wife to take care of their baby. As a result, Jeannie took it out on him and kept certain details to herself.

"Do you need some time off?" Fox asked with what sounded like genuine concern.

"Is that a polite way of saying I'm fired?" Jack asked eyeing him suspiciously. Fox frowned and realization dawned on him.

"I know a few ways to get around things here, Jack. If Jeannie needs you to be with her, then that's where you should be." He replied.

* * *

Jack went home and locked himself in the bathroom. Jeannie was out somewhere so he had some time to himself. He pulled his shaving kit from the cabinet and unzipped the case, removing the piece that held his straight razor. From beneath it, he pulled out the piece of rubber tubing, syringe and spoon.

He'd had this bad habit for a long time. It was just one more aspect of himself that he hid from Jeannie. Her suspicions of what he did in his so-called 'free time' made it more complicated.

Jeannie was a smart woman and she would eventually figure out what he was up to. It would be ugly and he didn't know how he would handle the confrontation. He would have to cross that bridge when they came to it.

Jack shot up between his toes. It was a place people didn't think to check when looking for needle marks on someone they suspected was a junkie. By that time, so many of them were so lost in their addiction that they didn't care where they hit, and ended up looking like walking dartboards.

He sat back against the toilet tank and closed his eyes as the drugs took on their effect. Eventually his head sank to his chest and he drifted off.

* * *

Jack woke up to the smell of lilac from the candle she burned in the living room. He blinked awake and carefully stood and splashed water in his face and looked at his pale reflection in the mirror. The sad-looking blonde guy stared back at him with dark eyes. He briefly wondered how he'd gotten to this place in his life.

He should be happy. He had a beautiful wife who was an angel in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen. She had his child inside her. He had a good job and what seemed like a promising life ahead of him.

Well, the Jack Napier Jeannie knew did.

He'd made a lot of choices long ago which had shaped a different path for himself. He'd gotten involved with some bad people because of what he really was inside. On his nights away from Jeannie he could be that man who enjoyed beating the shit out of other people for kicks. He could relish the terror in the eyes of a mark as he slowly cut them while they begged and cried for mercy.

He could be the Chaos Variable which centered itself in most of his work, and he loved it.

He turned off the water and dried his hands before venturing out into the apartment. He saw Jeannie sitting on the couch with her back to him and smiled as he approached his lovely bride.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what was laid out on the coffee table before her. She sat looking at it with a vacant expression, her hands neatly folded in her lap around her pregnant belly. She'd gotten into his case.

Lined out in a neat row were his guns and knives, from largest to smallest.

She looked at him and moved aside on the couch, clearing a spot for him. He carefully sat down beside her and slipped a hand over hers. He felt her hands clench together tightly and she flinched at his touch.

"I think I liked it better when I thought you were having an affair." She said in a small, little girl voice.

"There's still time." He said and laughed, covering his eyes with his free hand. She turned toward him and pulled his hand away from his face.

"I suppose you realize now why I was willing to walk away." He said and chuckled without mirth. She looked at him stoically; there were no tears for him this time.

"You killed that man, the one at the bar who tried to rough me up." She said. He nodded and she looked away.

"Did you do it for me?" She asked.

"No, I was paid to do it. Meeting you was just a happy coincidence." He said and squeezed her hands.

"That's why you didn't call me. Like I'm sure you never called anyone else you were with. They were all happy coincidences, bonuses." She said. He closed his eyes. He wished she would cry and hit him.

"Why did you really come back here?" She asked. "It wasn't homesickness; you've never introduced me to your family. You don't have any friends. Are you just here to kill people?"

"I'm supposed to be here." He said quietly. "And I'm supposed to be with you." He wrapped his arm around her waist and slid his hand over her belly.

"Do you love me?" She asked. He looked at her for a long moment and squeezed her.

"Yeah" he said. She laid her head on his shoulder and looked up at him with her beautiful blue eyes.

"I love you, Jackie. I'll never understand you, but I love you." She said quietly and leaned toward him. Their lips brushed and he pulled her to him, as close as their child would allow.

* * *

Jack had finished prying open the large crate with a crowbar and was standing back, taking in the initial prototype of the Microwave Emitter. This machine was what had gotten him the job at Wayne Enterprises under a government contract once he'd submitted his patent claim.

It had all started with a cup of ramen Jack had been heating in his crappy microwave while the television reported on a story about the droughts in the Midwest. There he was vaporizing water while so many other people were in dire need for it.

Inspiration struck and he soon forgot about the noodles cooling in his microwave as he began furiously scribbling away in his notebook. He ignored calls from his girlfriend and didn't go to work. Four days later he had a diagram drawn up on a dry erase board in his apartment.

He chuckled darkly at his invention. The fucking terrorists had used technology against them and killed so many people in Manhattan. They'd killed his mother in the name of a God he didn't believe in. He could use technology to take away a substance of such scarcity and vital importance to them. They would panic and suffer like so many people had in his Country. Like his mother had in the eighteen hours she'd spent trapped under the debris of the towers.

He shook the memory away and examined the machine before him, touching the smooth metal and wires and studying the connections. It was smaller than the final design, but was sufficient for testing. It was probably a good thing he'd already conceived a child, as he didn't know what kind of effect the device would have on the individuals who worked with it.

He heard a familiar whistling as Fox stepped into the work area.

"It's beautiful, huh?" Jack said smiling at his toy.

"Your _wife_ is beautiful, this thing is dangerous." Fox replied, sounding a little disturbed. Jack chuckled and patted the case.

"Let's take this baby out and see what it can do." He said excitedly, jumping to his feet.

* * *

Relations at home had improved since Jeannie had uncovered some of Jack's secrets; in particular, the sexual kind. Jack had gone to the O.B. with Jeannie for her check-ups and the doctor had brought up Jeannie's concerns about their relationship.

Jeannie was suffering from depression and it was suggested to them that they seek counseling in the matter. They went to a couple of sessions, Jack not really caring for the whole ordeal.

He preferred to speak with Jeannie privately. He didn't want anyone else to know how hurt she felt and how much of it was because of him. She opened up to him, telling him how she felt rejected, isolated and so very lonely.

He dismissed a lot of what she said in his mind as the ramblings of a hormonal pregnant woman who was feeling homesick. All she needed was him and their baby. They didn't need anyone else in their life. Soon enough she would be too busy taking care of the kid, and she would forget about these little 'feelings.'

They had taken up the doctor's suggestion that they nurture their sexual relationship. It was beneficial to Jeannie for the pregnancy and made her feel better about herself, and them. It was beneficial to Jack for the obvious reasons.

Pregnant sex presented its own obstacles which the couple worked through in their own unique ways. Soon Jeannie was happier and a pleasant atmosphere returned to the Napier home.

* * *

Jeannie was in labor for thirty-seven hours. Jack stayed by her side the entire time and allowed her to bite and scratch him all she wanted too when the nurses weren't around. Mutual benefits came in all sorts of ways.

She delivered a healthy, seven pound girl that was initially the most horrifying thing Jack had ever seen. The whole process was brutal and the baby looked like a creature from another dimension. He'd seen and done a lot of terrible things in his time, but the birth of their child ranked the highest among them.

People made videos of this act, and watched them, sometimes with friends and family. Jack began to wonder about the sanity of the general population that they could enjoy, even relish something like this.

Jeannie thought his reaction was hilarious.

* * *

After his lovely wife fell asleep, Jack wandered down the hall to the glass walled nursery. He gazed at his little alien baby who now took the form of a cute, sleeping newborn. He knew better though, that was his kid and he'd seen her true form.

He laughed at himself and leaned over to get a better look at little Alice Napier who was dressed in pink. They'd named her for his mother after he'd spilled his guts to Jeannie about the woman. Jeannie had loved the name and said it was much better than her first choice.

A longtime joke between them, Jeannie was Jeannie Harlowe, named after the blonde bombshell sex-goddess movie star. It had always amused Jack and he often made jokes about her 'other' career, citing titles and quotes.

"Her real name was Harlean." Jeannie said one afternoon as they talked about what they would name their child. Jack had been coming up with anagrams of their names and other silly suggestions.

"Harlean Harlow? _That's_ ridiculous!" Jack had laughed.

Alice opened her eyes and her little hands moved about in the tiny gloves which covered them. The gloves were a necessity as newborns tended to scratch the hell out of themselves. Jack couldn't blame them, who wouldn't want to tear their eyes out upon seeing the reality of the world they were born into.

"I see Congratulations are in order, Jack." The familiar voice spoke as a hand clapped down on his shoulder.

So engrossed was he in his new baby that he failed to notice the fat pig of a mob boss approaching him from behind. He felt a chill run through him as he glanced up at Carmine Falcone. He didn't want that wop bastard anywhere near his daughter.

"You should come down to the club for a cigar; they frown on those celebrations in hospitals these days." Falcone said and patted Jack on the back before leaning over to look at Alice.

"Cute girl, looks like her mother." Falcone grinned at Jack. Jack moved to stand between Falcone and the glass.

"What do you want?" Jack asked, narrowing his eyes and folded his arms, hunching his shoulders. Falcone beamed, showing all of his bad teeth.

"I just wanted to see the newest addition to the _family_." He said slyly. "Don't forget where you came from, Jack. I know you've been trying to distance yourself from us and I don't like it."

"I have my own family now." Jack said darkly.

"So does Maroni." Falcone said narrowing his eyes. Jack laughed.

"Maroni" he said rolling the name over his tongue. "You think I'd walk away from you and go to work for _that_ piece of shit?" He shook his head. "No, no" he laughed. "I'm working for Jeannie and Alice now."

"And Wayne Enterprises" Falcone said waving his finger as if admonishing Jack. "It's good to have a man around like you with so much talent and so many resources."

"And you wouldn't want to piss off someone like me." Jack said straightening and poking two fingers hard against Falcone's chest.

"Are you threatening me, Jack?" Falcone said with amusement. "I could bury you alive with all you've done and little Alice will grow up without her father."

"And I could _just _bury you alive." Jack said chuckling darkly.

"Come down for that cigar, Jack." Falcone smiled patting Jack on the arm. Jack watched him retreat and then returned to Jeannie's room.

* * *

"You want to go back to Chicago?" Jeannie asked in amazement.

Jack lay on their bed and held Alice in his arms. He looked up at Jeannie and her hands were planted firmly on her hips. He shrugged.

"Or any other place of your choice. I figured you'd want to go back home, you know so Grandma can dote over Alice and spoil her rotten." He replied and she stared at him skeptically.

"What about your job?" She asked sarcastically. "Isn't that the whole reason we're here?"

"Fox said he could probably recommend another position for me elsewhere. Maybe transfer me to some Wayne affiliate." He said and poked his little girls' nose.

"What happened?" She asked, not moving. "What are you running away from?"

"I'm not running away from _anything_." He glared at her. "You hate it here, and now you're cutting yourself." He motioned at her forearm which she quickly folded across her chest.

"This isn't about me" she said.

"No, you don't know how wrong you are about that." He shook his head and kissed Alice's tiny forehead.

She walked over and lay down beside him, smoothing their daughters' hair. She looked at him, searching his eyes with her penetrating blue ones.

"Well, I guess I have little choice since when you have your mind made up, that's the way things go." She said. "I'm sure mom will be thrilled to see Alice."

* * *

A week later Jack came home to the sound of Alice's screaming cries from within the apartment. He hurriedly put his keys in the lock only to find that the door was already unlocked. His heart pounded as he threw the door open and raced inside.

"Jeannie!" He called and walked over to the baby crying in her bassinet in the living room. He touched the infant's face and turned to look down the hall.

"Jeannie!" He yelled, as his steps became more hurried toward their bedroom. He threw the door open and came to a halt, his breath catching in his chest.

Jeannie lay on the bed dressed in his favored blue baby doll dress. The dress was hitched up about her waist and her torn panties lay on the bed beside her. Her stockings were knotted around her throat. Her lips were parted slightly and her eyes were open and staring at nothingness.

Jack felt as if the wind was knocked out of him and he stumbled backward against the doorframe. He felt dizzy and he reached a hand out toward her as he began taking a step forward.

"Lovely work, isn't it, Jack?" A voice crooned in a British accent behind him.

Jack turned in time to see an object falling toward him, crashing into his head. The other man hit him several times, laughing and dancing a bit as he kicked Jack in the side, stomach and ribs.

"Jack be nimble, Jack be quick!" He chimed. "My ass, look at you! Perhaps you should start crying, I do love it when they cry." The man taunted. Jack tried to get to his feet only to be kicked squarely in the chin by his assailant.

The man crouched over him, straddling him. He delivered a few more blows and laughed heartily as he did. Jack saw the glint of a knife by his eye.

"I love it more when they scream." The man giggled and tore into Jack's face.

* * *

Joker woke with a start and leapt up from his bed only to fall on the floor, his legs entangled in the sheets. He kicked them away and backed himself into the corner and looked around, wild-eyed.

He breathed hard and touched his face, feeling the scars on his cheeks, licking them with his tongue. He knelt forward and laid his head against the cold, hard floor. A wave of nausea and a racing of those shock pulses coursed through him.

_What is happening to me?_


	8. Blue Eyed Floozy

He lay face down on his bunk, pressing the side of his head against the cold cinderblock. After days of disorientation had come the seizures. It was a weekend day; he knew that much from the lack of staff and quietness of the facility. It was the perfect time for him to begin having seizures, especially since no one seemed to be able to get in touch with his doctor.

He lay there sweating after having another one. He'd had three, or so he'd been told by the orderlies and guard who had hoisted him back onto his bunk. He'd stared at them, a feeling of helplessness igniting into a rage he could not express due to his weakened state. The orderlies had scurried away leaving him with the guard who looked at him piteously.

The guy had never done anything to Joker, but that didn't stop the images of him tearing out the guard's throat with his teeth and laughing while the man's blood spilled across the dirty concrete floor.

"They're getting Doctor Smith." The guard told him while he lay there sweating.

Joker rolled over into his current position and waited for the guard to leave. Rolling his head against the cool wall, he dug his fingers around the side of the thin mattress and into the hole he'd torn into it months earlier. From it, he withdrew a plastic zip-closure bag containing pills of various size, shape and color.

He opened the bag and sat up, picking pills from it and placing them in the palm of his hand. He hadn't been in his 'stash' for a while now as the medication Harley had been giving him made him feel fine.

At least it had until this week.

He frowned as he rolled the pills over in his palm with his finger, reading the letters and symbols pressed into or printed upon them. He put them away and sat back against the wall and waited for the doctor.

Smith was a small Asian guy with thin black hair and too many teeth. He liked Henry Smith if only because the man having that name was hilarious. He'd been Joker's doctor when he'd first been brought to Arkham, and the first doctor who'd dropped him like a hot iron poker. He saw the man in the hallways on occasion and flashed him smiles and waved at him, Smith always shrunk back and headed in the other direction.

The lock buzzed and the guard entered with Smith and an orderly in tow. A second guard entered behind them and the door was closed. Joker was beginning to think they hadn't brought enough guys.

He started laughing, rolling his head back on his shoulders as peals shook his body. He looked up to see Smith and the orderly staring at him, horrified. What was it about his laughing that always seemed to scare people? He burst out another sharp laugh and calmed himself down, clearing his throat.

Smith approached him cautiously and pulled a tongue depressor and a pen light from his pocket. Joker obediently opened his mouth and Smith carefully extended his hand toward his face. Smith probed around in his mouth for a few minutes, rolling his tongue around with the piece of wood. From the look on his face, Smith was not enjoying the experience.

"Tongue lacerations on the right side." He said to no one in particular. Smith always talked to himself. He examined Jokers eyes with the light and then stood back looking at him.

"You had a seizure." He said, seemingly surprised. Joker supposed he couldn't blame them. He'd never faked a seizure before, but he wasn't beyond anything as far as the staff, or he was concerned.

"What are you doing different?" Smith asked. Joker arched an eyebrow.

"Well, I started lifting 520 last week." He said in all seriousness and then chuckled to himself. Smith was not amused.

"I will contact Doctor Quinzel and tell her what has happened." Smith replied. He motioned for the orderly to hand him a plastic cup which contained his medication and some water. Joker sat forward, eager to accept them. One of the guards grunted and Joker eyes him darkly and sat back.

"In the meantime, I'm not giving you anything more than your medication as prescribed by Doctor Quinzel." Smith said and the cups were handed off to Joker.

Joker put the pills in his hand and held it over his mouth as he mimed taking them. Then he drank the water and handed the cups back and watched quietly as they left the room.

Once they were gone, he opened his hand and stared at the pills in it. He pulled out his 'stash' and compared the medication. Though remarkable in their similarity, he had not been given the same medication.

In his hand was a mix of vitamins, pain medication and dietary supplements.

As prescribed by Doctor Harley.

He squeezed his eyes closed and felt white-hot rage tear through him and he hurled the pills across the room. They made soft plinking noises as they hit the wall and floor and rolled around.

"_I was one of your schemers, but now I care about you. Funny that."_

Funny indeed. He laughed without mirth as he grabbed the plastic bag and walked over to the toilet and flushed its contents. He stomped on the pills he'd thrown and sat heavily back on the bunk.

She had seemed so sincere, and perhaps she had been. Visiting him twice a day in his room and touching his hand and smiling at him while she gave him placebos.

He pulled at his hair and then stood and paced around the cell. His mind was racing and he tried to grasp at the thoughts which made sense. Harley was making him crazy, _on purpose_. She wanted him to go on the stand next week and act like a complete lunatic so she could keep him here at Arkham.

She had been manipulating him, had dug into his past and fed him lies to return him to his "maddened" state.

Now it was _his_ turn.

* * *

Joker exited the stairwell onto the fourth floor and checked the hallway before stepping into it. The guards downstairs had proven to be easier to get past than he'd anticipated, something he would file away for future reference.

The hallway was empty and Joker quietly padded down the tiled floor in his bare feet, keeping cautious eyes and ears on his surroundings. The air was fresher up here, and crisp from well-working ventilation. He took a few breaths, enjoying the clean air and thinking that in a matter of days, he would be breathing fresh air again.

He stopped at what appeared to be a reception desk when he spied a vase of roses. Red ones, someone had an admirer. He plucked the card from the arrangement and saw that it was 'Margie.' He tossed the card aside and pulled a single rose from the arrangement.

He continued down the hall, plucking the thorns from the stem and dropping them carelessly as he went. He'd ventured to the administrative offices on an information finding mission, but decided that the rose would be an effective tool for screwing with Harley. He hadn't decided just how he was going to announce that he'd been in her office, but the flower was as good as anything else.

He read the name plates to the left of each door as he passed by. As he reached the one proclaiming "Doctor Harleen Quinzel," he paused and glanced at his feet and the dim light which bathed his toes from beneath the door.

Someone was home. He smiled and grasped the doorknob and slowly turned it, pushing the door open with his side with ease.

He was greeted by the sound of breaking glass and a terrified look on the face of his psychiatrist. She backed against a small table and bumped into the coffeemaker and knocked everything over beside it.

He quietly closed the door behind him as he approached her, smiling. She blinked and her eyes darted around the room as she scooted along the table and then against the wall. He chuckled and tilted his head as he stopped in front of her. He bent close to her and her mouth moved wordlessly. He smelled alcohol strong on her breath.

"This is for you." He said pleasantly as he raised the rose by the stem and brushed her nose and cheek with it.

She stared at it dumbly and then raised a hand slowly to accept it. Her eyes seemed to gloss over and her knees buckled and she fell slightly forward as she slid down the wall.

She had fainted!

Joker laughed at this as he caught her beneath her arms and hoisted her up, dragging her across the small office to her desk where he deposited her in her chair. Her head lolled about and he playfully slapped her cheeks and pulled her hair, giggling as he did.

"Harley, Harley-girl, wake up." He giggled and her eyes opened slightly and then widened as she gasped and pushed herself against the back of her chair. She made a small strangled cry as he grabbed the arms of her chair and rolled it side to side across the floor.

He let go and the chair rolled an inch or two as he stepped back and sat on her desk, the cheap furniture groaning under his not-considerable weight. He looked at her as she scrambled to sit up in her chair. She definitely did not look like psychiatrist Harley. She wasn't wearing her glasses so he supposed she had contacts in. Her hair, normally tied back in a tight bun, was up in two pigtails and she wore glossy pink lipstick and smoky eye-shadow. She wore jeans and a tight-fitting T-shirt bearing the phrase "I see you've met the 'Twins'"

"You come to work drunk often?" He asked eyeing the phrase on her shirt before looking at her frightened expression. Her brows knitted in confusion.

"What?" She balked. He burst out laughing and she tried to stand but he shoved her back into her chair.

"You're wasted." He chuckled and she looked at him angrily.

"No I'm not!" She said a little too loud, like a drunken girl would.

"Uh, I'm not arguing the point with you." He said, glancing about the office.

It was a standard appointed office which everyone dreamed of upon completing a post-graduate program and entering their profession with a door, window, bookshelf and everything. Her framed diplomas from Gotham University and licenses and accreditations hung on one wall while the others remained bare. The bookshelf held the usual tomes of the psychiatric professions as well as some journals … and her purse.

The mother load.

A woman's purse contained pieces of her entire existence. You could tell more about a woman from digging through her purse than you could from a year of mundane dates and meaningless conversation.

He leapt from the desk and before she could protest, had hold of her purse and his back to her.

"Hey! What are you; that's mine!" She yelled trying to reach around him to grab the bag. He deftly unzipped the bag and dumped its contents onto the desk. Harley gasped in disbelief behind him and then dropped to her knees, scurrying to pick up what had rolled onto the floor.

Joker carelessly tossed her purse aside and slipped into her chair and pulled up to the desk and began rifling through the objects. He tossed her Arkham badge over her head and onto the floor and she grabbed after it.

He picked up a couple of pens and tossed them as well, sifting through the collection and discarded objects that didn't interest him as he went. A bottle of Midol, chewing gum, emery board, cough lozenge wrappers, dental floss, fingernail clippers, $1.85 in loose change, Hello! Five condoms, three of them flavored. He picked them up and leered over at Harley who was picking up scattered coins.

"Now what is this, hmm? Harley gone wild?" He chuckled and she looked up and nearly choked as he waved the prophylactics at her. She flushed deep red.

He noted the flavors and then threw them at her and returned his attention to the desk. He picked up the pack of 'Misty' cigarettes and extracted one of the lollypop thin sticks. He frowned at the 'girl cigarette' but put the filter in his mouth and lit it with one of her cheap plastic gas station lighters, of which she had two.

She had three tubes of lipstick, and he opened each and lined them up on the desk, looking at the colors. The glossy pink she now wore was to the left while the middle was a light red and the right a dark red. He picked up the dark red, her usual shade, and smelled the waxy aroma. He glanced down at her to make sure she was watching him and picked up the tiny cosmetic mirror and carefully applied the lipstick to his own lips. He didn't apply it as thickly as he did his own make-up, just enough to get the point across.

He swept aside her mascara and eyeliner and picked up a pair of panties and dangled it by his index finger before shooting them at her like a rubber band. He crushed out the spent cigarette on the cosmetic mirror and lit another as he tossed aside the clamshell birth control case and opened her wallet.

He pulled out her driver's license and read the information and looked at the picture. She photographed well. He glanced at her and then back at it.

"Your middle name is Francis." He said casually. "Hmm, Harleen Francis Quinzel, Harley Fran Quinn. Nah." He said shaking his head. "Your birthday is coming up."

He looked at her and she was in tears. He blinked at her and set her license down and slipped out of the chair, sitting beside her on the floor.

"Now, now don't do _that_" he said wiping a tear as she tried to move away from him. "You went digging through my life behind my back; at least you get to watch me."

He slid an arm heavily around her shoulders and reached up and grabbed her wallet and flipped it open so that the cheap plastic liner containing photographs was visible. She took the wallet gingerly and turned through the photos.

"My nieces" she turned the pages "and nephews." She looked at him and he nodded for her to continue. "My sisters and brother, my parents" her voice broke and she wiped her face.

He reached up and pulled down another ID on a lanyard and flipped it over in his hand, holding it beside her face to compare the image with her. It read 'Gotham Academy of Gymnastics and Dance. Staff. Harleen Quinzel.'

"Is this where you were today?" He asked, anger brimming in his voice as he thought of the hell he'd been experiencing. She nodded wordlessly and he laughed.

"So, what you teach _gymnastics_?" She nodded and he laughed harder.

Who was this woman? This little blue-eyed floozy who ran around with flavored condoms and panties in her purse while she taught little girls to dance and screwed with the heads of dangerous madmen? He laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes.

"Oh, I am sorry Harley. Sooo sorry, I had you all wrong. I don't know what flavor you are, but it isn't _Vanilla_." He giggled and she tried to pull away from him. He grabbed her and pulled her hard against him, putting his face in the crook of her neck. She smelled like perfume, sweat and alcohol. She cried out and tried to pull away again, but he held tight and buried his face deeper, her pigtail tickling his skin.

"I had a bad day" he said. "I found out someone was playing doctor with me, but not playing by the rules. You could get fired if I told them what you did."

She started shaking and whimpering and he slid a hand over the back of her head and stroked it.

"Shhh" he said as he stroked her soft hair and breathed in her scent. He sat back and gently took her hands into his, rubbing her skin with his thumbs. He looked at her pink nails and rolled her hands over and stroked her palms.

"You ever hear the phrase 'grab the brass ring?'" He asked looking at her face, her eyes were bloodshot. She nodded a small whimper escaping between her pink lips.

"You know what it means? Where it came from?" He asked and she looked confused.

"It means to strive for greatness." She said and he chuckled and shook his head.

"No, no, that's what it has come to mean. It was a game, Harley. A carousel game" she frowned at him and he continued.

"You see, people liked riding carousels, they have fun animals and colored lights and organ music. Who doesn't love that? Animals of all kinds and people ride around and around together in a great big circle, kind of life. You get in a routine, a rut and you go around and around in your little circle day after day, year after year until the music stops and you die." He studied her face, she sniffed and wiped her nose, having stopped crying.

"But like all things, carousels got old, boring. No one likes to ride a representation of life, a boring one at that, when they experience it without having to pay a wooden nickel." He smirked at her. "Those are the little tokens you get when you buy rides at the old amusement parks. You have to pay to get something that is worthless, only redeemable for a ride around and around on a wooden horse."

"Someone got an idea to make carousels more interesting." He said, twirling one of her pigtails with his index finger and then brushing her chin with it. She flinched.

"So, he put this brass ring dispenser on a carousel ride. It's on an arm and when the ride starts, the dispenser lowers into place and only people riding on the outside can reach it. They reach out and grab these little rings. But, Harley, most of them are iron, worthless. There's only one brass ring in the dispenser. So the lucky guy or gal who gets it gets a prize from the guy running the ride."

"But what to do with all those iron rings? He hand an idea for that too. He put in a target for people to throw those rings at. You don't get anything for hitting the target" he said shaking his head.

"So, here are all these people, riding around, trying to grab these hard to get rings, all but one being worthless. Their efforts for grabbing an iron ring, unrewarded as they just throw it away. I think that guy completed the carousel metaphor of life. He made it perfect." Joker smiled and squeezed Harley.

"And it also means to live life to its fullest, Harley." He said releasing her. He stood and she watched him. "Are you doing that?"

He glanced at her and walked around the desk and bent to pick up the fallen rose. He walked back to her and handed it to her and stroked her head before striding out the door.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for all your reviews!


	9. Learning to Fly

Harley took her seat on her return flight from Chicago. She practically fell into her tiny seat as she moved out of the way of the person behind her. She dropped her briefcase on the seat beside her and sat back against the hard seatback and took a deep breath of the stale cabin air.

She'd never enjoyed flying, but her endeavor to learn more about the Joker in order to help him had brought her here, in a tiny compressed tube full of irritated passengers and surly crew members. Flying was vastly overrated.

Give her a car any day of the week. Just her driving with the window down while her favorite song played on the radio. She could fly to Tahiti; she would rather drive anywhere else.

"Um, excuse me, Miss?" A familiar voice called to her. She opened her eyes and her lips partly slightly with surprise as she took in his clean-shaven face and calm hazel eyes, his wavy blonde hair that hung just past his ears. He narrowed his eyes at her questioningly.

"I'm in" he glanced past her to the window seat, "7E." He said.

"Oh, of course" she said and moved to stand.

"If it's alright with you, I'd rather have the aisle seat." He said and she glanced up at him and smiled politely before lifting her briefcase and sliding over into the window seat.

"Yeah that's the problem with long legs and tight spaces" he chuckled. She smiled at him, and couldn't help but stare at his smooth face. He had no scars.

"I've never been much of a fan of, confinement." He said and studied her face, "are you alright?"

"Nervous flyer I guess" Harley laughed at herself and sat back and buckled her seatbelt.

She tucked her briefcase under the seat as he sat back and pulled out the emergency procedure card and laughed to himself. She smiled and turned away from him to look out the window and the ground crew working in the dismal evening, bathed in artificial light and freezing rain.

"They only put these things on planes to give people a false sense of security, you know." He said.

"Hmm?" She turned to see him staring at her, holding up the plastic coated card.

"Nobody is really saved by these things. They're just pretty pictures selling a pretty lie that something could go wrong with this machine and they will come out unscathed. It's ridiculous really." He said.

"You tell this to everyone you know who's nervous about flying?" She asked, feeling a little sick. He smiled, _that _smile.

"I'm letting you in on the truth, the reality that in case of an emergency _that_ piece of foam you're sitting on would never save your ass. The best you could hope for is that when those masks come out of the ceiling that they're full of poison gas that'll kill you in an instant!" He said snapping his fingers. She shook her head incredulously.

"You are a piece of work, Mister." She said sharply and turned away. She heard him chuckle.

He remained quiet through the pre-flight briefing and taxiing. He only said "whee" and laughed as the plane's tires left the bumpy tarmac and the plane soared smoothly into the night sky.

Harley gripped the ends of the arm rests so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She gasped slightly as she saw a bolt of lightning split the sky outside her window. The plane shook and she held her breath as they continued to ascend. She licked her lips and closed her eyes tightly.

A hand covered hers and she peeked to see him looking at her, a soft expression on his face.

"Look up there," he said pointing at the display above the seats in front of them between the two air vents. The display told them to fasten their seatbelts.

"Yeah?" She said looking at him and then back at the pictogram.

"When that light goes out, then everything's going to be fine." He said. She stared at the pictogram until finally the plane stopped shaking and a little 'ding' sounded and the light went out. She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled.

"Isn't that something?" He asked and she looked at him.

"What?" She frowned.

"That little light and noise 'ding' can make all the difference. A moment ago you were scared out of your wits and then that light went out and now everything is okay. Even though there is still a storm going on around us" he smiled. "That is _real_ magic."

"You really aren't helping." She said and pressed herself back into her seat. He patted her hand.

"Sure I am, Harley, I just opened your eyes. Nothing is as it seems, there is no safety net. Just spread your arms and close your eyes and fly." He chuckled, turned away to look at the row back across from them.

"I, I never told you my name," she stammered feeling cold inside.

"Didn't you?" He said and turned back to her, squeezing her hand tightly. His eyes were drowned in black circles and his mouth was a red slash across his face. His hair was long green and wild like a strange halo around his head.

* * *

Harley gasped and started in her sleep. She sat up and pulled the covers tightly around her as a thunderclap hit the sky hard enough to shake the room. Lightning brightened the room momentarily, but long enough for Harley to see the images across the room at the foot of her bed.

Tears brimmed at her eyes and spilled forth as a loud sob escaped her chest. She ran her fingers through her tangled, damp hair and threw the covers back and got out of the bed. She raced over to the wall and shouted at it.

"Get out of my Head!" She cried and began tearing pieces of paper from the wall, documents and pictures ripping as her cries did through her. She balled her fists, full of torn paper, and she hammered on the wall with them.

She staggered back to the bed and fell upon it as her legs caught against the edge. She lay on her back, feet dangling on the soft covers and watched the light and shadows play across her ceiling.

She wiped her face but more tears came and she felt truly helpless.

Last night in her office had really affected her.

There she had been drunk and making silly jokes about the Joker and moments later he stood before her with one hand gripping the doorknob and the other a rose. And his eyes were full of menace.

She hadn't been able to get the look of his eyes out of her mind since he left her sitting on the floor, crying and holding his 'gift'.

The whole event had been surreal and terrifying. The Joker was in her office with her alone at night and there was no one there to stop him from doing whatever it was he pleased. How he'd gotten out of his cell and to her office was a moot point, he was there.

She'd fainted and he'd picked her up and played with her like she was his little doll. He'd dumped out her purse and gone through her things and made fun of her, humiliated her, assured her that he could find her when he got out of the asylum.

There were no ifs ands or buts. He could get out of his cell and he would leave Arkham whenever he pleased. Freedom was his brass ring and he had made his intentions clear.

Whether or not he would see the inside of the courtroom on Wednesday, she didn't know. It was in his hands now. A lot of things were.

She was certain that she could not help him.

In a way she'd done him a favor by taking him off of his medication. When she testified in court they would take him to Blackgate where he certainly would not receive the medication and care he had at Arkham. When he escaped, he wouldn't get it then either.

She'd watched him suffering the withdrawal effects, knowing them for what they were. But no one else had noticed. No one else cared about him. It had been hard for her to watch him twice a day as he took pills she knew would do him no good.

She'd done it all because she had a plan to keep him in Arkham; with her. It was for the best for him. No one would or could care about him the way she did.

But she had underestimated him, like everyone else had.

Why he had chosen to play with her in her office instead of killing her and leaving she didn't know. He'd just given her a rose, without thorns, and quietly slipped back into his cell.

She rolled over and crawled up her bed to the nightstand and lay back down, watching the lightning play off the rose. She touched its soft petals and smooth stem.

He'd asked her a silent question in his carousel soliloquy.

_When I leave, will you come with me?_


	10. Signs of Life

He struggled to breathe against the constriction in his chest and throat as the burning vomit fought its way out of his stomach. Lights flashed around him and the only sound was his strangled gags.

He felt like he was dying, drowning on the cold hard cement floor of his cell.

This was not how the Joker had planned to die. He'd wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, flames and screams that were not his own. A death people would see when they closed their eyes, in their memories and nightmares.

Not this pathetic seizure, 'killed by kindness' at the hand of his doctor.

All at once the stranglehold subsided and he drew a deep breath and choked on his own vomit. He rolled onto his side and coughed and spat the acidic fluid out of his mouth.

Then he could breathe, the effort its own reward and punishment from his body's war against itself.

He lay like that for a while, knowing the guards had either not seen the seizure, or were laughing their asses off at him. He preferred the former; he didn't like it when people saw him when he was vulnerable.

Weak.

Only twice before had anyone seen him so completely exposed. The first had been when that bastard had torn his face open, laughing at him while his wife lay dead on their bed and their baby screamed in the next room.

Now when he heard a baby crying he saw her face, her vacant eyes staring at him, telling him he was a failure.

Then there was Batman and his magic grappling hook. Joker had been laughing happily as he rapidly approached his end, his blaze of glory. Then his leg had exploded with pain and shattered bone and blood as the hook caught it and jolted him to a stop.

He hung there, suspended by a bolt on a wire and watched the upside-down world spin around him. His glory denied, he laughed and laughed at each wrenching pull and yank of that bolt in his flesh. He held out a small hope that it would tear loose and he would fall again.

Fall into the madness awaiting him below as the people of Gotham writhed in fear and chaos. Fall into her arms if she would still have him.

He touched his sore throat gingerly and remembered the faces of the SWAT team training their guns on him, as if he could do _anything_ hanging from that wire. He laughed at the absurdity of their logic.

He remembered the faces of the EMT staff who worked on him and the doctors at City Hospital. Some of them had suggested giving him a shot, a little _too_ much pain medication and he would be out of their lives forever. They were Batman's _good_ people.

"Get up, Chuckles." A voice called from the wall. Joker craned his neck to see the small square in the door and the guard's face on the other side of the glass.

"Who, me?" Joker pointed at his chest, indicating himself.

"Can it, wiseass." The voice replied.

Joker rolled to his knees and slowly stood and walked unsteadily to his bunk and flopped down upon it. If anything, he covered a lot of distance when he seized.

The door opened and two guards entered, followed by Doctor Harley. Joker smiled when he saw her face, so stoic and serious like nothing ever happened last night. He giggled to himself. One of the guards, Briggs, glared at him.

"Where'd you get the lipstick?" He said incredulously, before setting his face in the scowl he usually wore. Joker glanced at Harley as saw the panicked expression she wore.

"Your mother" Joker replied. "She wanted me to be all pretty when I go down on her boy." Joker fluttered his lashes and licked his lips suggestively. He got the desired response.

Briggs pulled his baton without a second thought and cracked Joker across the head and neck with it.

"Shut it, you queer, faggot boy, motherfucker." Briggs spewed a litany of curses as he wailed away at Joker and the other guard tried to stop him.

"Hey, knock it off Briggs, goddammit!" The other guard shoved Briggs hard and Joker laughed and put a hand up.

"Oh help me, save me!" Joker said in a feminine voice and giggled as he saw Harley move in the corner of his eye. Before he got out another word or gesture she made her move.

"Stop it!" She cried and grasped at Briggs arm.

The rest played in slow motion as Briggs yanked his arm forward, pulling Harley off-center. He turned slightly and rammed his arm backward and caught her across the face with his elbow. Harley dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Joker lost the ability to think.

He was on his feet and on Briggs in a second. He shoved the man against the cinder block wall. He twisted Brigg's arm until the man screamed and he let go of his baton.

Joker went to work, hammering away at the man with the wooden implement, snarling like a dog and barking like a hyena.

Screams and shouting filled the air around him but all Joker saw was a faceless man, laughing and laughing at him.

_I love it more when they scream._

He felt a jolt tear through him like fire and he fell backward and dropped to his knees and then his side, trembling uncontrollably. Not a seizure. The jolt stopped but sharp pains shot through his body. He saw shadows moving around him, but heard one voice clearly.

"Stop!" Harley cried out and hands were on his shoulders and turning him.

"Son of a bitch! He killed Briggs!" A man yelled.

"Step away from him, Doctor Quinzel." Another voice called.

He saw her face, her expression was concerned and she pushed hair back from his forehead and shined a light in his eyes.

"Joker?" She asked. He blinked at her as the shocks began to subside.

She sat back on her haunches and pulled two syringes from her pocket. She uncapped them quickly and looked him in the eyes as she injected him with God knew what. She set the syringes aside and grabbed one of his hands, he tried to pull away but suddenly felt…

Weak.

Harley was the only one clear to him as the shadows moved about the room. He saw blood smeared on the wall and on Harley's face. She leaned closer and squeezed his hand. He squeezed hers back, falling into oblivion.

* * *

Harleen watched the consciousness drift away from the Joker's eyes as the lids closed and he went limp on the floor. She cast a glance at the nurses who were working on Briggs to their right but knew there was little they could do for him.

Joker had killed the man with the second or third blow of the baton.

They lifted Briggs' body onto a gurney and wheeled it from the room, leaving her with the other guard and the Joker. The sight was a chilling reminder of what could have happened to her the night before. Her eyes met the guards.

"I want him taken to the showers. Clean him up and put him in a padded cell in a straightjacket." She stated matter of fact. The guard nodded and she stood.

She watched quietly as they loaded Joker onto a gurney and took him away. Then she glanced around the cell, and began to walk around the small space.

The bloody baton and smears on the wall spoke of the violence which had just occurred. She toed a pill on the floor and glimpsed something plastic on the floor by the sink. She walked over and picked up the plastic zip bag, with a pill still caught inside.

She nodded to herself that she'd found what he'd been keeping his pills in. Now where had he been keeping them?

She knelt and felt around the cracks between the toilet and sink and the wall. There wasn't enough space there to squeeze a bag of pills. She found two more pills lying beside the toilet.

That morning she had heard all the messages on her answering machine. She had been so frazzled the night before that she had not caught sight of the blinking light as she fled to her bedroom. When she woke she heard Dr. Smiths' messages with increased urgency in his voice in each one.

That had led to a frantic search for her cell phone, to no avail. A chill ran down her spine as she remembered the last person who'd been near her purse. She'd shaken that alarm off; she should have heard her phone ringing hours before Joker had gone through her purse.

She had called her cell and no one had answered. She had half-expected to hear Joker answer with a string of giggling and laughter.

She'd dressed quickly and headed to the Asylum to see to her patient's needs. Joker hadn't bothered to tell her that he'd been having seizures, but that he had been having them explained the menace he'd shown toward her. She'd made him sick and he was pissed off about it, as well he should have been.

Harleen had lain awake a long time, thinking about what she'd done to him and what he'd said. He'd said her job would be threatened and that had struck her as odd. Of all the things he could do to hurt her, getting her fired was what he'd taunted her with.

He knew it was important to her; that was why he'd said it. His game was manipulation and he was great at it.

She'd acquired a sedative and anti-seizure medication from the pharmacy and then headed to Joker's cell to administer them. And she wanted to apologize to him.

It wouldn't mean anything to him, she knew that. But she desired a clear conscious, something he would call selfish but then who wasn't selfish? To him, everyone was.

She walked over to his bunk and knelt, looking beneath it and then ran her fingers over the top and bottom of the thin mattress. It smelled of urine which she'd expected from the seizures he'd been having. Then he'd been forced to lie in his own filth by the staff. Say what they may about him, but Harleen didn't think he would choose to live this way on the outside.

She felt along the side of the mattress, along the wall and her fingers found a crevice. She dipped her fingers inside and then leaned across the mattress and dug within the hole. Her fingers found a couple of objects which she retrieved. One was a makeshift shiv, the other was some sort of device constructed from a battery some wire a couple of screws and a piece of metal.

She frowned at the weird little device and then pocketed it and the shiv then left the cell to allow the orderlies to clean it out. The Joker would not be returning to this room.


	11. Color Me Your Color

Joker opened his eyes and found himself lying back in a desk chair. He blinked and turned his neck, stretching it until he heard a pop and then glanced at his surroundings. He was sitting behind a desk in a small office, lit by a single desk lamp.

He studied the features of the office and recognized it at once. It was Harley's.

He snorted in amusement and confusion as he sat up in the chair and brushed his hands against his uniform, only it wasn't his orange Arkham jumpsuit.

He looked down as his hand brushed the piece of chain he hung from his trousers, not a chain wallet or pocket watch. A nice piece of steel chain he could grab in a pinch and use against an adversary. Not as immediately deadly as a gun or knife, a piece of chain still carried a hell of a punch and was a fun way to get 'information.'

His fingers slid along the cold length of links and then he brushed his lap with both palms, feeling the fabric of his trousers beneath them. Dark, purple, pinstriped made to order by that seamstress on 88th. He touched the green vest and the collar of his purple hexagonal-patterned shirt and the blue fabric of his jacket. Then he slid his fingers down the lapels of his dark purple overcoat.

Marley specialized in vintage couture, or so her ad had professed. So he'd paid her a visit and then a few thousand dollars to make him this nice suit, something out of a forties gangster flick. The mob had laughed at him and his 'cheap purple suit' unknowingly laughing at themselves. Some people didn't truly appreciate parody.

The door opened and he looked up to see a short, lithe figure in a white lab coat enter and then close the door with a whisper behind her. She leaned her shoulders back against the wood and propped one foot in a low heel against it as she peered down over her black-rimmed glasses at him.

"Hi, Mista J," she said with a sultry smile that spread across her dark red lips.

He stared, struck dumb as she slipped a hand back and pulled off a headband and her hair fell into two pig tails. She took off her glasses and nibbled on one of the temples. She set them aside and slowly, but deliberately unbuttoned her lab jacket.

She shrugged the white article off and it fell to the floor around her feet and she placed a hand against the doorframe and stuck out a hip toward him.

"Take a look at your new, improved Harley Quinn." She said in a playful, girlish way. He shook his head incredulously.

She was dressed in the colors of Anarchy, the Red and the Black. A short dress with a very short skirt, like a cheerleader uniform with long sleeves fit her body in a way that gave someone a true appreciation for her dancer's body.

She sauntered over toward him and climbed onto and then across the desk. She braced her hands against the end and gracefully leaned toward him, her face inches from his.

"What's the matter, Mista J, don't you like it?" She said and pouted exaggeratedly, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

For a moment he stared, and then he grabbed her face in his hands and kissed her with ferocity. She made a moaning sound and then his hands were slipping under hers and around her back. He stood and she moved her knees across the desk until she was kneeling on it before him.

Their fingers dug into each other's backs through the fabric of their clothes as they opened their mouths and their tongues found each other. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her toward him, she wrapped her legs around his waist.

They fell to the floor ungracefully and looked at each other with surprise. Then they laughed and Harley's hands were in his hair and they were kissing again. They made out like teenagers behind her desk, their hands clumsily exploring and groping each others bodies on top of their clothes. He felt her small breast, cupping it in one hand as he kissed and sucked on the skin below her ear. She moaned and slid a hand down his chest until she had him in her hand. He pulled away from her neck and breathed deeply against her ear before carefully removing her hand.

"Mista J?" She asked breathless. He sat up looked at her beneath him. She smiled and stood up.

"I know what's missing." She said cheerfully, pulling open a desk drawer.

He looked up at her quizzically and she motioned excitedly for him to get up. He stood and she pushed him back to the chair and sat on the desk before him, holding up a tube of greasepaint.

She opened it and happily began spreading the white paint on his face, her legs around his, her breath smelled like strawberries. He closed his eyes as her fingers danced, gently massaging the paint over his skin. He kept his eyes closed as her fingers traced his eyelids and when she was done he looked up at her. She brandished a tube of lipstick and giggled.

"Now for the finishing touch," she said and then began applying the lipstick.

She did so gently, not like he did. Her face set in the clinical seriousness he was used to as she decorated his lips and scars. When she had finished she capped the tube and grinned at him.

She looked at him appraisingly and then leaned close to him and kissed him gently. He raised a hand to her cheek and she pulled away slightly. She slid from the desk into his lap and slid a hand up his chest and around his neck. Her eyes fell to his tie, which she played with in her other hand.

"I'm gonna get you outta here" she said in a low voice and her blue eyes flicked up to meet his.

"I had hoped as much" he purred and ducked toward her and tried to kiss her. She planted her hand firmly against his chest and pushed him away.

"Ya know why?" She asked and he cocked his head and peered at her.

Women were tricky and leading questions like this one were always a trap. Before he could answer she spoke again.

"Not because we're playing a game, well, your game." She shook her head, her pig tails bobbing. "I have a game too."

"Is that right?" He leered at her and moved his head and inhaled her perfumed scent.

"Uh huh. Mine's a Con" she said conspiratorially.

"The one where you write a book about my dirty little secrets and make it big?" He said, sliding his hand over her thigh. She felt good against him, better than he had imagined in the fleeting fantasies he'd had about her.

"Huh-uh," she shook her head. "I'm playing the Long Con."

"Oh?" He licked her earlobe and felt her shudder against him.

"Do you remember what you said to me the first time we met?" She asked running her fingers over his tie and up the edge of his vest. He thought for a moment and drew a blank.

"Memories are funny things" she said. "Our own minds play worse tricks on us than other people can. You don't remember, do you?" Her clear blue eyes were on his again.

He had been pumped full of so many drug in the past year that sometimes he woke up and didn't remember why he was even in Arkham. It hadn't been until just recently that any memory came in to sharp focus, and even those he couldn't trust entirely.

He knew he'd attacked her. She'd come into the room prim and proper in her white coat and her hair in a bun and he'd wanted to tear her apart. He looked at the woman in his lap and slid a finger across her jaw line. Had he really hurt this pretty thing?

She wrapped her other arm around his neck and pulled herself up, her lips to his ear.

"You said, 'do you _really_ care about these people, Doc_tor_?'" She said in a mocking tone. "Hold still and this won't hurt." She laughed. "Maybe you'll even be one of the lucky ones and you'll live." She said with a growl.

She leaned back, supporting herself with her hands around his neck and giggled.

"It _was_ a pretty good joke, Mista J." She said. He cocked his head and peered at her, confused.

"I'm gonna get you outta here, Mista J. Maybe not the way you imagined, though." She said and her lips brushed his again.


	12. Something I Forgot Was Wrong

A/N: Jeremiah Arkham is based on the likeness of actor Donald Sutherland.

* * *

Harleen lay on the examination table, glancing lazily at the picture on the wall. It was a poorly painted image of a park that could very well have been done by one of the inmates; one way that the asylum could save money on "extras."

She adjusted the ice pack against her cheek and turned her attention to the door when it opened and Doctor Thomas and Leland entered.

Doctor Thomas was the administrator over the Medical Unit of the hospital where Leland was over Psychiatry. Both had been called in this fine Sunday due to the 'incident' with the Joker. Thomas pulled two X-ray films from a vanilla envelope and placed them on the light board.

"It appears that there aren't any fractures of the zygomatic or mandibular arches." Thomas said pointing at the film and nodding to Harleen.

"Great, so I'm still going to be pretty for court" Harleen mused. Thomas frowned at her, the way he usually did everyone else. The fifty-six year old man had a superiority complex which rivaled that of Doctor Crane's when he had been over the hospital.

"You're lucky you won't be eating through a straw for the next month." He snapped and Leland cleared her throat.

"How's your headache, Harley?" Joan asked in a soft voice. Harleen's eyes met her soft brown ones.

"Getting better" she said and sat up carefully, swinging her legs over the edge on the table. "The police are here now?"

"Yes, the Commissioner has been waiting to speak with you." Leland replied taking Harleen's arm as she slid to her feet and then walked out the door.

"Wanted to see if I could talk first and not draw pictures, huh?" Harleen chuckled. Leland gave her a sideward glance.

"You're lucky, Harley." She said quietly. Harleen felt that little knot in her stomach pull tight.

"Yeah, lucky that Briggs cracked me across the face with his elbow instead of the baton" Harleen bit back. Joan eyed her and Harleen stopped walking. "Surely you've seen the tape; Joker didn't even lay a finger on me. But that's not what's important is it?"

"Doctor Quinzel." Jeremiah Arkham said in a grandfatherly tone, loud enough to silence her as he and the police came into view in the hallway. He smiled kindly at her and she returned it. Commissioner Gordon joined them as if summoned by her name.

"Hello Doctor Quinzel." The mustached man said extending a hand toward her. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

She took his hand and shook it firmly, smiling back and then following him into her the small conference room. He closed the door behind them and she took a seat. 'Finally meet you' she mused, she had come up a lot in the realm of law enforcement as of late as Joker's hearing approached. He took a seat across from her and tapped a notepad with a pen as he studied her face. She set the ice pack on the table.

This was what it felt like to be on the other side of the table. She felt tense even though she had no cause to be. Perhaps it was because she knew she had to talk about _him_, and to defend him no less. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Gordon wouldn't like it either. Joker talked about Gordon a few times, how to him he seemed like Ned Flanders from 'The Simpsons' without the nonsensical jabbering. Harleen had told Joker that he more than made up for that himself.

"Tell me about what happened this morning, Doctor Quinzel." Gordon said in a soft tone.

"Please call me Harley, everyone else does" she delivered her usual icebreaker. Gordon nodded slightly.

"Is that what the Joker calls you?" He asked.

"Among other things" Harleen mused.

"How long have you been treating the Joker?" He asked.

"Six months." She replied; he raised his brows in slight surprise.

"Has he made any progress?" He asked.

"Enough to have a competency hearing Wednesday" Harleen replied. He scribbled something down and gave her a sideward glance.

"You don't think he's ready for one?" He asked.

"I believe that is something I'll be answering later this week." She said and placed the ice pack on her cheek again. "I don't think it's appropriate to discuss at this time."

"Really" Gordon said and made another note. "Attacking correctional staff is par for the course for him then?"

"Briggs has a history of patient abuse, particularly of Joker. I've made several complaints on his behalf to no avail. Briggs was never disciplined for any of his actions." Harleen replied.

"The Joker never complained about the abuse?" He asked.

"No, he never mentioned it. I would have to review surveillance footage after he showed up to therapy with bruises. It's another part of his pathology which I don't feel is appropriate to comment on at this time." She replied.

"What were you treating him for this morning?" Gordon asked; a hint of irritation in his voice.

"Joker has been suffering from a series of seizures for the past day. I only received the messages early this morning at home as I have somehow misplaced my cell phone. Once I received word of his condition I came to the hospital to administer anti-seizure medication and a sedative to help him." She replied.

"Does he have seizures often?" He asked

"No." She shook her head. "He'd never had a seizure in his time here so the fact that he has now was a concern that needed to be addressed immediately before any brain damage could result from his condition."

"Does it seem strange to you that he would suddenly start having seizures now?" He asked.

"Doctor Smith had thought the same but an examination and an EEG revealed that he was having seizures." She replied. "As for the timing, I believe that he has stopped taking his medication as he had exhibited symptoms of withdrawal, seizures are common side effects of when someone suddenly stops taking the kind of medication that he is." She said. Gordon cleared his throat and sat back.

"Staff members reported that you have been personally administering his medication for the past week." He said.

"Yes," she nodded, "it was my concern that he would stop taking his medication when he learned of the hearing this week. So I began bringing him his medication and watching him take it in order to keep him from flushing his pills."

"So what happened?" He asked. She shrugged.

"He most likely threw up his medication once I left his cell. Guards have reported that he had been vomiting a lot in the past few days." She said.

"But he didn't say anything." Gordon said.

"No," she shook her head. "I don't imagine he would tell me that he was throwing up his medication as soon as I was out of sight."

"Has he expressed the desire to remain in Arkham over going to Blackgate?" He asked.

"He has expressed the desire to not be confined at all." Harleen replied running her fingers through her hair.

"According to Anthony Hall and Doctor Arkham you were mugged last week, is that true?" He asked changing tact. Harleen felt the knot pull in her stomach.

"Yes I was." She replied.

"Why didn't you report it to the police?" He asked setting his jaw, his gaze firm.

"I am not certain of whether it was an actual mugging or an attempt to keep me from testifying this week." She replied. Gordon raised his brows, his expression surprised.

"He didn't take my purse; he only tried to strangle me and ran off when he was interrupted by a passerby." She elaborated.

"Have you received any threats, Harley?" Gordon asked.

"Yes, numerous threats have been called or sent here and to my home in the past week. I reported these to the District Attorney; did he fail to mention them? We have received threats against Joker as well but that has been, as you said, par for the course." She replied, feeling unease at the memory of some of the messages she'd received.

"Have you told the Joker about any of this?" He asked.

"That would not have been to the benefit of his mental health, although it probably would have amused him." She said.

"Why do you say that and yet not comment on anything else about him?" Gordon shot back.

"Joker enjoys attention. I don't think that is privileged information as he made it clear to the general population last year." She replied. Gordon grimaced at the memory.

"But about the threats made against yourself, have you told him about those?" He asked.

"I don't tell Joker anything about my personal life. He's used that information against other therapists in the past and by not indulging him I have had more success with him than any of them." She replied.

"Do you think he likes you?" Gordon asked. Harleen sat back in her seat.

"Joker doesn't like anyone." She replied.

"Why did he protect you?" Gordon asked.

"What?" Harleen blanched.

"In the footage from the incident this morning, Joker made no move to defend himself or attack Briggs until Briggs hit you. It was then that he killed Briggs." Gordon said.

"I wouldn't know, I didn't see the footage and I was stunned, unaware at the time he attacked." She replied. "Besides, he attacked _me_ during our first session. He tends to take advantage of vulnerabilities as they arise."

"Like when he attacked the guard when he found out you left town for Chicago." Gordon said. "Or when he killed the inmate who said he was going to murder you and then have relations with and consume your remains."

"Who was that?" Harleen asked, genuinely confused.

"Samuel Petersen" Gordon read from his notes. "Doctor Arkham said that two months ago the Joker killed him."

"I remember that he killed Petersen; that was when he was removed from contact with other patients. But I was never told that it was related to me." She replied, feeling sick.

"Doctor Arkham told me this morning that the Joker told him after the murder that Petersen had told him explicitly what he would do to you had he the opportunity. It apparently had an effect on him." Gordon replied.

"If he did say that was the reason he killed Petersen, then I imagine that his actions were selfish instead of heroic. He wouldn't have wanted to have a new Doctor, he hated all the others." She replied.

"But not you" Gordon said watching her face.

"I don't know what you're trying to get at here, Commissioner." Harleen said, flushing with irritation.

"Have you ever discussed the hostage situation at Gotham General with him?" Gordon asked.

"That is confidential." Harleen bit back. Gordon eyed him warily.

"I would think he wouldn't like having a former hostage of his overseeing his care." Gordon said. "What exactly are the ethical ramifications of that?"

Harleen felt like she had been punched in the gut. She went to speak and then closed her mouth and clenched her jaw, tears stinging her eyes.

"What exactly are you implying?" She said, sounding angrier than she'd wanted to.

"If the Joker is shown to be incompetent to stand trial due to insanity then he would remain in Arkham under your care, is that correct?" Gordon asked sternly.

"Yes." Harleen replied. He rubbed his palms together and shifted in his seat so that he sat higher.

"You see, to me it seems very convenient that the Joker would stop taking his medication a week before he is set to undergo a competency hearing in order to be prosecuted for his crimes; especially when you have been giving the medication to him directly. The fact that he would then be returned to the care of someone who was once a victim of his, a person he has killed to protect twice. What exactly are you and the Joker getting out of his therapy?" Gordon asked suspicion thick in his voice.

"He is not aware that I was one of the hostages." She replied.

"Are you sure about that?" He asked, staring holes in her. Tears spilled from her eyes.

"I am acutely aware of it. I know what you are implying and you are very wrong to even suggest it!" She snapped. "Doctor Arkham knows I was one of the hostages, and I have received therapy for the incident. In fact, treating Joker has been very beneficial to me in that case. I am not seeking revenge or any sort of relationship with him. My interest in him as a patient is professional. I want to help him get better! You would think I would get a greater sense of satisfaction sending him to his death by capitol punishment after curing him instead of keeping him here and torturing him by whatever means. I am _not_ Jonathan Crane!" She wiped her eyes and sat back.

"And I do think he's legally sane, yet suffering from severe mental illness" Harleen said in a small voice. "I also see a benefit to the field of psychiatry by continuing to study him. Is _that_ what you wanted to hear, Commissioner?"

Gordon nodded and then looked at his hands. Harleen began crying and Gordon reached out a hand to place on one of hers.

"I know you are doing your job and everyone in this city had a hard-on for him." She said. "I am trying to do right by my patient for his own wellbeing and I have only been met with criticism both by my colleagues and Joker himself."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Harleen wiped her eyes with both hands and stood up.

"You have no idea what it's like to be the only person who cares about him." Harleen said and then left the room; letting the door quietly click closed behind her.


	13. Try and Knock Her off Her Feet

Waking up in a padded cell didn't faze Joker. Swimming in a haze of sedatives he rolled himself to a sitting position and fell heavily back against the wall which supported him.

The straightjacket pulled uncomfortable against him. His shoulders and elbows ached from the strain of constriction and being pulled in so many directions at once. Then there was the whole bladder issue.

Doctor Smith had deduced that Joker's bladder must sit farther forward than average which made him feel like he had to piss constantly when he was in a straightjacket. Depending on who was on staff and what their mood was like was what determined whether he would escorted to the bathroom or left alone to void and sit in his own urine.

He had to go, urgently. He wasn't the type to beg for it though.

"Hey!" He yelled. After a minute or so passed he called out again and saw a face peer in the small window in the door.

"Gotta piss." Joker called out to the guard who made a face. The man disappeared and Joker laid his head against the padding.

He often wondered if it was a shift assignment or if the guards drew straws to see who had to take the prisoners in isolation to the bathroom. It was never a pleasant venture. They only unhooked the bottom strap of the jacket and had to "handle" the mechanics themselves.

Joker realized that had been when he'd gotten himself on Brigg's shit list. He couldn't help himself and loved to fuck with the guards. The look on Brigg's face the first time he'd had to touch Joker's penis had been priceless.

It wasn't long before a guard came to escort Joker to the bathroom and they went through all the indignities of the ritual. This one wasn't one of the 'fun' guards; he was one of the day shift guys so Joker knew he hadn't been out for long.

"You like your job, Woods?" Joker asked passively, focusing on the cracked tile wall and his aching joints. The guard snorted derisively.

"I could think of better ways to pass the time." Woods replied.

"You there this morning?" Joker asked. Woods briefly caught his eye, contempt in his expression.

"Yes." The man said looking away. Joker frowned at the Arkham staff moving this guard from High Max to Isolation just for him. Joker licked his lips and didn't taste her lipstick anymore. He realized his hair was damp and it hung stringy over his face.

Wash him up, wrap him up, and throw him in the pillow room. Joker shook his head and Woods finished buttoning him up before washing his own hands. He pushed Joker lightly and aimed him at the door and then back to his cell.

Joker lay on the thin mattress in the corner of the cell. Why they bothered putting them in padded cells was beyond him. He studied the creases and folds of the material lining the walls and floor of the cell. The ceiling was tiled and Joker chuckled. He supposed of anyone in a straightjacket made it up there, then the Arkham staff had bigger things to worry about.

He moved about in his jacket, trying to get comfortable. He wasn't getting out of this one. The trick to getting out of a straightjacket was all in slack and to get that, you had to be awake in order to create as much slack as possible while they put the jacket on. Forget about dislocating anything, without slack you weren't going anywhere and then you were stuck with a dislocated shoulder to boot.

He closed his eyes and thought of someone he'd rather have his arms around.

* * *

"Doctor Arkham!" Harleen called sharply, her heels clicking loudly as she barreled down toward the man. The older man turned his tall, thin frame and quirked a highly arched brow in his lined face.

"Yes, Doctor Quinzel." He said in a kind voice, smiling. Harleen stopped before him and folded her arms indignantly, her fury radiating from her small body.

"There is a matter we need to discuss." Harleen snapped.

"Doctor Arkham," a voice said behind her. She turned to see Commissioner Gordon approach and then the two men looked at her and then one another.

"I believe we are about finished here. I would like to have a word with you before we leave." Gordon said and glanced at Harleen. Arkham nodded and placed a hand on Harleen's shoulder.

"I will see you in a few minutes." Arkham replied and Harleen flushed dark red.

'_A few minutes? What were her issues so trivial that the great Jeremiah Arkham could only spend a few minutes of his precious time with her.'_ She thought as Arkham steered her back into the room she had just vacated.

She wheeled on him when he closed the door, pointing at him and accidentally poking him in the chest. She curled her fingers into her palm and dropped her hand to her side feeling a little foolish.

"What seems to be the problem, Harleen?" He asked softly, trying to defuse her. She sighed heavily.

"Commissioner Gordon seems to know quite a bit about me and Joker, more than he should know based on privacy laws." She said.

"Are you referring to the fact that you were taken hostage by him at Gotham General? That is in the police reports, Harleen, you gave a statement." He replied.

"Gordon implied that I have an inappropriate relationship with Joker." She said. "He also told me that Joker killed Samuel Petersen because Joker told _you_ he was trying to protect me." She snapped. Arkham laughed.

"Harleen, if I felt that anything inappropriate was going on between you and any patient, you would have been fired by now. As for Petersen," he smirked, "the Joker had other reasons for killing him. Gordon was merely manipulating my statement in an attempt to coerce information from you."

"Why did you tell him what Joker said at all?" She asked bewildered. "And why would he make up such a story as _that_?"

"Oh, Petersen did tell the Joker he was planning to do…disturbing things to you. We have Jonathan Crane's statement to corroborate that." He replied.

"Crane?" She frowned. "I was not aware that he had any interaction with Crane."

"There are a lot of things the Joker doesn't tell you." Arkham replied. Harleen flushed.

"Have you been _treating_ my patient?" She said accusingly.

"I have been having sessions with the Joker the entire time he's been at Arkham. I _do_ run this facility." He said sharply.

"But withholding that information from his primary psychiatrist is not going to help with his treatment. You're keeping his secrets, facts which could be key to discovering the root of his psychosis and his true identity." She replied. Arkham shook his head.

"Do you really think the knowledge that he wants to sleep with you would help his treatment and the progress you've made with him?" He asked. Harleen's eyes went wide and her face paled.

"I periodically review your sessions with the Joker." He said. "It's quite obvious that he has kept those, thoughts to himself when talking to you. I had my concerns that his attraction would compromise his treatment. However it seems to have built the foundation of a trusting doctor/patient relationship."

Harleen was speechless. She felt numb and looked at her fingers which she played with nervously. In her mind she saw them in his cell together and how he would draw away from her when she touched him. She felt his face pressed against her neck and shoulder, the way he'd stroked her hair and her hands the night before. His breath on her skin, his lips pressed momentarily against it.

"Has he spoken with you about that night at the Pruitt Building?" She heard herself ask. She looked at Arkham who made a sympathetic face.

"He doesn't remember you Harleen." He replied.

Deciding they were finished, Arkham stepped out of the room and left Harleen there, bewildered. She slipped her hand into her pocket and felt the objects she had retrieved from Joker's cell. She drew a settling breath and then left the room as well and made her way to the isolation ward all the while feeling numb and slightly unsettled.

Once she had entered the ward, she stood quietly in front of Joker's cell for a few minutes while the guards did their shift change. She glanced in the window and saw Joker lying on the thin mattress on the floor, bound in his straightjacket and staring at the ceiling.

A guard and a nurse approached her and Harleen took the syringes from the nurse and sent her away and then entered the cell, leaving the guard outside the door he closed behind her.

Joker glanced at her lazily and then rolled to his side and moved himself into a sitting position. He looked at her quietly and tilted his head, studying her.

"You look ugly." He said without mirth.

"Thanks, you too" she said looking at the fresh bruises he bore as well. He snorted and a small smile crept across his lips, but didn't stretch his scars. It was a pleasant smile to look at and one she wished she'd seen more often, it did make him more attractive than the usual theatrical expressions he usually made. It was in his eyes.

She approached him and knelt beside him, revealing the syringes, he made a face that ruined his smile.

"What's that, Antifreeze?" He asked sarcastically. Harleen looked at the floor and his bare feet, the long nails on his toes.

"No, I think we're beyond that." She said and looked at him. "I need to remove your jacket."

"Shouldn't you have a guard do that?" He asked looking away.

"I know you're not comfortable in that." She said noting how he shifted in his constraints which were fastened tighter than was necessary.

"What makes you think that once I'm out of this jacket I won't grab those needles and chase you around the room with them?" He said looking at her seriously.

The image of him doing so popped into her mind and instead of being horrified she found it hilarious. She started laughing. A moment later he joined her. She moved close to him and he sat forward, still laughing as she began releasing the straps. In a couple of minutes he was out of the jacket and he grabbed it and whipped it across the room.

"I hate those damned things." He said glaring at it.

He rolled his arm over and held it out to her while she donned latex gloves and wiped his skin with an alcohol swab. She made the injections quickly and then capped the syringes and handed him a piece of gauze as she took the syringes out of the room. Upon her return she saw him pressing the gauze against his skin.

"What did they use on me" he asked casually looking at her curiously, "this morning when they took me down."

"A taser" she replied as casually. He raised his brows.

"Hmm, I'd never been tased before." He said and looked amused.

"I don't think I've ever met someone before who made that a goal in life." She replied. He shrugged.

"Now you have. So let's cut through the bullshit, hmm?" He said breaking the tension they had been dancing through.

Harleen removed the small wired device from her pocket and approached him, holding it out for him to see.

"What is this? Is this what you used to get out of your cell last night?" She asked studying his face. He chuckled.

"Bingo," he smirked and quirked a brow at her. "You don't know what it is?"

"No. Enlighten me if you would." She replied sitting on the floor.

"It's an electromagnet," he said as if explaining it to a child. "The locks here are electronic; do I have to explain the rest to you?"

She was momentarily surprised and then remembered that _Jack Napier_ was an engineer. She wondered how long he had been slipping out of his cell.

"I recall reading some papers a guy wrote about electromagnetism and radiation, but honestly it's a little out of my field." She replied. He laughed.

"A physics joke out of you, who would have thought" he shook his head, she looked perplexed and he laughed harder knowing she didn't understand what he meant. She was starting to feel stupid again.

"You wanna know how Crane did it?" He asked, his laughter sputtering out.

"Oh yes, I heard the two of you were friends." She replied. He frowned and she swallowed hard.

"I was informed this morning about your motive behind killing Samuel Petersen." She said. He grunted and looked unhappy.

"_That _guy was the lowest form of garbage there is. If I hadn't done it, inevitably someone else would have. Do you know why he was here?" He peered at her. She shook her head. He pursed his lips.

"I don't like people who rape and murder ladies and little kids." He said choosing his words carefully.

Harleen's interest was piqued; they had never discussed rape before because to their knowledge he hadn't committed the act. Even when he had her and the others captive, he never made a move on any of the women and…discouraged the thugs in his crew who had.

"So it had nothing to do with me?" She prodded. He looked at her, chewing the scars on the inside of his mouth.

"I was having a _bad_ day." He replied and looked away. "We're not discussing this anymore."

"How did Crane do it? Well, what did he do and how did he do it?" She asked. He mused not seeming as excited as he had been moments before. She could blame the medication but she knew that she'd said something to upset him. Something about the Petersen situation had struck a nerve which ran deep.

"Fear night." He replied. She sighed and frowned at him.

"He was dumping fear toxin into the water main under Arkham for months and then," she paused trying to find the right word, "dispersed it." He looked at her with a glint of amusement again.

"Do you know how he _dispersed_ it?" He asked. She knitted her brow and thought about it. Nothing had been officially released about how Crane had actually aerosolized the toxin. Only that a train was somehow involved.

"Were you helping him?" She asked. Joker shook his head.

"No, no. We traveled in the same circles but we never met until I was brought here." He replied.

"And you became such good buddies that he told you how he did that?" She asked sarcastically. He shook his head grinning maniacally.

"He didn't have to. You see, he used a device called a Microwave Emitter. It was originally designed for desert warfare to vaporize the enemy water supply." He beamed. The magnitude of such a weapon hit Harleen, it was monstrous; it would create so much suffering.

"God, like some kind of awful Doomsday Machine," she said shaking her head with amazement.

"God had nothing to do with it," he smirked. "I invented it."

"What?" She stared incredulously. He laughed his insane cackle and grinned at her.

"I lied." He said, suddenly serious.

"About what?" She asked. He shrugged.

"Nothing, everything," he gave her that small smile again.

She was mystified. She put the electromagnet which she had clutched in her hand back in her pocket and moved to sit beside him, watching his reaction. His expression remained unchanged and she studied his features. His soft dark eyes and long stringy hair, nearly half of it blonde and the rest a faded green. His fingernails were too long. She could hear Selina's voice in her head.

"_Tell him you want to run your fingers through his nasty green hair."_

"You're not ugly." He said quietly.

"Hmm?" She snapped out of her thoughts.

"You're not ugly." He replied. "In fact you're…quite pleasing to look at."

"Thank you," she said unable to come up with anything else. "You look like the Wild Man of Borneo."

He laughed and she realized he was the only man who would take that as a compliment. The 'Wild Man' being a street performer, a clown like him.

Out of nowhere he had placed both hands on the floor on either side of her and his face close to hers, his nose brushing against hers. His eyes were half-open and looking into her surprised ones. He leaned closer and pressed his lips against hers.

The kiss was brief and chaste and as quickly as he had come at her, he returned to his former place wearing an unreadable expression as he watched her. She stared back at him, surprised and a little frazzled. She coughed and rubbed the back of her neck with her hand and thought about how Arkham said that Joker wanted to sleep with her and how Selina said he decided it was finally time he made his move.

"_I'll bet it was like sex for him."_

"Harley?" His voice broke into her thoughts.

"I can't find my cell phone." She returned. He frowned. "I would have been here last night, earlier yesterday but I can't find my phone. I'm sorry."

"Don't think that what happened this morning was _your_ fault." He mused and shook his head. "Don't do _that_. In a couple days this will all be over and you'll never have to see me again."

She nodded quickly and stood and made a hasty retreat from the cell without looking back at him. Not that he called her back or gave her any indication that he wanted her to stay. She hurried out of the isolation ward trying not to be obvious and retreated to her office. What used to be her safe haven in this place; she laid her head on her desk in her curled arms and started crying.

* * *

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reading! Thank you for your wonderful reviews! I am quite far behind on responses and plan to catch up on them soon.

Not being one for self-promotion, but I have posted another story called "Say That We're Sweethearts Again." It was the original idea for this story. I hope you enjoy it.


	14. Buy Me a Drink, Sing Me a Song

A/N: Edward Nashton is based on the likeness of actor Jude Law.

* * *

The phone began ringing on Harleen's desk and she looked up from her folded arms, peering at it. The way this day, this week, the past year had gone it could be anything and at the moment she wasn't ready for that.

The caller went to voice mail twice before Harleen finally picked it up on the fourth ring of the third attempt. She carefully cradled the receiver in her hand and brought it to her ear.

"Hello," she said quietly.

"Harley! I knew you were there, damn it! Why didn't you pick up the phone?" A woman shrieked at her. She knew the caller outright; she had been yelling at Harleen her whole life.

"Judy" Harleen said calmly. "I just got back to my office and I seem to have misplaced my cell phone."

"I know," her sister said sighing, "I have it. I figured you _had_ to be at work because you weren't home and you have, like, a _thousand_ missed calls on your cell from Arkham."

"You have my phone?" She replied, puzzled. She hadn't seen her sister in at least a week.

"Yeah, I went to the Academy to drop off some costumes for the Regionals. Diane said you left it in the office yesterday" was Judy's reply. "Anyway, I'm gonna drop it off at your place. What's wrong, you sound…weird?"

Harleen shook her head and breathed a sigh of relief. She thought of all the voice mail messages she would have to listen to, ninety percent of them about Joker.

"I'll meet you at my place if you have time for it." Harleen replied, a sharp note in her voice. Judy had been blowing her off lately and she had a creeping suspicion that there was a man involved.

"Yeeaaah" Judy said drawing the word out. "I have something for you anyway. See you in a bit?" Harleen nodded despite the fact that Judy couldn't see it.

"I think I'm finished here" Harleen replied.

She ended the call and gathered her purse and pulled on her jacket. She paused at the door, her hand on the light switch and turned around to survey her office. Hours, mere hours before she had been on the floor behind her desk with Joker, clutching her with his face buried in her neck. Less than an hour ago, on another floor he had kissed her.

She felt a funny feeling wash over her, like many fingers tracing her body in unison. A shivering touch that was both pleasant and a little unsettling. She shook away the sensation and turned off the light.

* * *

She almost made it out the front doors without further distraction but was stopped mid-stride by Commissioner Gordon's voice and the authority within it. She turned on her heel and watched him approach, followed by a tall man in a dark green suit. He walked with a cane and a slight limp.

"Doctor Quinzel, this is Detective Edward Nashton." Gordon said indicating each of them in turn. She took in Nashton's short, light brown hair and green eyes. He was clean cut, his face slightly angular and he crooked a smile at her.

"Nice to meet you, Detective" she said extending a hand. He took it and they shook. His hand was warm, but not wet as many were, a cool confidence exuded from his smile.

"I thought I would have Detective Nashton drive you home, you have had quite a day Doctor." Gordon commented studying her features. She frowned at him.

"Pardon me, Commissioner, but that is a hell of an assumption to make that I can not make my own way home." She replied sharply. He quirked a brow and rocked back on his heels.

"Permit me to conjecture that the Commissioner is concerned for your wellbeing after you have taken such a blow this morning." Nashton said nodding at her and she remembered the large bruise on her face and the pain registered again.

Perhaps she had been knocked senseless after all. She was the one who'd made out with Joker in a padded cell. She shook her head, no they hadn't made out; it was just a kiss. Damn that man, he was needling her mind even now.

"Alright," she sighed resignedly. "But we're taking my car and you'll have to make your own way home. I have to go now, I'm meeting my sister."

She surrendered her keys and Nashton followed her to her car and he motioned her toward the passenger door. He unlocked her door and opened the door for her and then closed it behind her. She watched him circle the vehicle and wondered when the last time a man held a door open for her had been.

He unlocked the driver's side door and adjusted the seat before sliding in, tucking his cane away in the backseat. He adjusted her mirrors and she glimpsed the cane in the back.

"I don't want to be rude, but..." she began as he started the engine and backed out of the parking space.

"How does a cop get by with a bad leg?" He finished for her. "While walking down the street I met a man. He tipped his hat and drew his cane and in this riddle I told his name. What is the name of the man?"

"What?" Harleen looked at him open-mouthed and tilted her head. He grinned at her and then set his gaze back on the road.

"I'll answer your question if you answer mine." He replied. Harleen sat back in her seat and frowned. "Us and Them" by Pink Floyd began playing on the radio.

'_I met a man, a man, Aman? No, that isn't a name, too obvious. Walking down a street, met a man, tipped his hat and drew his cane.'_ Harleen sighed and then glanced at the cane in the back.

"Andrew." She said snorting and shaking her head. Nashton smiled at her.

"Very good, Doctor." He said and was quiet. She looked at him for a few moments and began to wonder if he would uphold his end of the deal.

"Five years ago I was a beat cop." He said suddenly. "There was a string of murders which appeared to be mob hits, but there was something else to them." He sighed. "The killings appeared to be serial and bore a lot of the same characteristics. During the course of the investigation I made Detective and was assigned to the case. I like to solve puzzles and made some headway in the investigation. I got a name, an alias really. Red Hood."

Harleen nodded recalling the name from the press and some stories the supposed _crazy_ mob muscle in Arkham liked to tell. Red Hood was like a ghost story among the mobsters. Like Joker was becoming.

"One night I happened upon a scene of a crime in progress," Nashton continued. "It was him. He looked up at me from the body he crouched over and just…seemed to be staring me down." He shook his head. "I never saw his face, just that hooded sweater pulled down, hiding his face; very bold. He shot me and then walked away casually, whistling."

A long silence passed between them and Harleen laid her head back and gazed out the window, the bruise on her face reflected in the rearview mirror. The side streets and lights passed in the silence and she didn't mind.

"Guy is supposed to be dead." Nashton said almost to himself. "Rumor is he crossed Falcone and he had him put down. He even brought in someone special to do it. But that's all rumor."

"But you're still looking for him." She said in a near whisper. She thought of Joker and the man he used to be. The man Professor Edwards said no one had looked for when he had come up missing. A man no one cared about except for her.

She shot up in her seat.

Judith!

Her heart skipped a beat as the realization struck that her sister was meeting her at her apartment. Her home; where the ruined Joker's mind still partially clung to her bedroom wall. Her apartment; which Judith had a key to.

Her eyes fell on her building as they pulled up and a chill ran down her spine.


	15. Ice Cream for Dinner

A/N: Judith Marley is based on the likeness of actress Zooey Deschanel.

* * *

They arrived at Harleen's apartment complex and pulled into the garage. Harleen noted the squad car parked on the street as they passed it and assumed it was Detective Nashton's ride. He opened the door for her as he had at Arkham and gave her his card and a smile. She accepted it, her fingers slightly brushing his as the card passed between them. She looked at his green eyes and smiled back.

'_Harley!'_ Her inner voice cried out.

She sighed and blinked twice, letting her gaze fall on her sister's compact parked in her guest space and felt her stomach sink. Judith was already in her apartment.

"Call me anytime if you need to." She heard him say and she returned her gaze to his handsome smile. Her emotions fought one another like a tidal wave and a whirlpool. She was certain that Joker wanted her this way; a mess, a catastrophe.

They exchanged pleasantries and she watched him walk away, aided by his cane, toward the mouth of the garage.

'Andrew, his cane.'

He hadn't presumed she would ask him upstairs, a real gentleman. She ran a hand along Judith's car bought by her ex-husband as she walked past it and entered the stairwell. The last gift Jacob had given his wife before she caught him 'dictating' sweet nothings to his secretary in his office. He'd apparently forgotten it was their anniversary and that lapse in memory now paid Judith's bills.

Her stomach had twisted itself into a knot by the time she reached the door to her apartment. She braced herself and shouldered her door open and closed it behind her and then leaned against it for support. Tonight she wouldn't find her ex-fiancé in her bed with another woman, only her sister sitting upon it staring in horror and wonderment at the man she'd been sleeping with.

"Harley?" Judith's kind face appeared in the kitchen doorway; in her hands were a half-gallon of Rocky Road ice cream and two spoons. She motioned toward the couch with the spoons and met her sister there.

Judith was a waif. Her porcelain skin seemed to glow through the frame of her long hair dyes nearly black. She looked at Harleen with her wide blue eyes. Like her sister, she had once trained at the Academy and she naturally danced when she moved. Harleen had aspired to be like her big sister, except she had inherited her flaws instead of her strengths. Her bad taste in men in particular.

"What happened this time?" Judith asked as she pried the lid off the ice cream. Harleen gingerly touched the swollen skin on her face.

"Guard clocked me." Harleen replied. Judith looked at her skeptically and pointed a spoonful of ice-cream at her.

"He choke you too?" She shoved the spoon into her mouth and then dug back into the carton. Harleen took the other spoon and joined her. She savored a spoonful of the cold treat and sat back against the cushions.

"It's been a bad week." Harley replied and wiped at tears which threatened to become full on sobs.

Harleen recounted the events of the past week to her sister as she cried and they ate ice cream. In her mind she ticked off each detail as it passed through her lips, knowing full well she shouldn't be telling _anyone_ these things. Her sister listened passively as she always did. She was a better listener than Harleen's own psychiatrist. Harleen ended her story when she left Gordon at the end of her interview. Judith ate one more spoonful of ice-cream and set her spoon down and sat in deep thought for a few minutes. Harleen started when she finally spoke.

"He got out of his cell and you didn't tell anyone." Judith said in a flat tone, fixing her eyes on Harleen's.

"He won't be doing it again." Harleen replied. Judith raised her brows.

"So that makes it okay? You know he could have done anything to you last night." She looked at the muted television for a few more minutes.

"What are you going to do when he escapes and comes looking for you? If you know anything at all about his secrets that makes you a serious liability to him. After all, any emotional attachment is one-sided and I'm surprised that it's coming from you." Judith looked at her, tired.

"He kissed me." Harleen said looking at her hands. She waited as her heart pounded a couple of times and then looked back at her sister's eyes, huge with surprise.

"Last night?" She gasped. Harleen shook her head.

"Today, after I confronted Arkham about what Gordon told me. Arkham has been talking with Joker, having sessions with him. He told Arkham he … wanted me." Harleen said, her body going rigid with tension. "I went to his cell, and he kissed me."

Judith covered her face with her hands and groaned loudly. She lay back against the cushions and stared at the ceiling. Then she started laughing.

"Oh God, Harley!" She shook her head and looked at her, still laughing. "What the hell? Did he give you tongue?" Harley snorted loudly as she began laughing with her sister.

"No, no it wasn't like that." Harley said; her face felt hot as her skin flushed.

She sat up and grabbed Judith's arm, pulling her up. She looked at her lap and sputtered a laugh and then placed her hands on either side of Judith on the seat and leaned in and pressed her lips against her sisters, as briefly as Joker's had touched hers, and then shot backward to look at Judith's face. Judith raised her brows in bewilderment.

"That's, really?" Judith said. Harleen nodded.

"Huh." Judith said and puzzled. "Really?"

"Yes." Harleen replied.

"That's not what I expected. Kind of disappointing, really" Judith said and the sisters looked at one another and laughed.

* * *

Harleen stood in the shower, letting the warmth sink into her, the water flowing over her skin. She worked the shampoo through her hair, the suds washing over her.

'_You're in love with him, and it's wrong. It's terrible. After everything he's done; what he did to you. A man like that can't love anything, and he'll never love you.'_ Judith's voice said in her memory, echoing her own thoughts.

Her sister was waiting in the living room for her. She'd told Harleen that she'd brought a dress for her to try on, a birthday gift. Upon entering her bedroom to hang the dress on the door, she'd seen the mess in her room. The maps and post-its and photographs of Joker. After the initial shock had worn off, she had understood what Harleen had been trying to accomplish.

'_But did you have to do it in your bedroom?'_ Judith had asked. _'He's consumed you. You're obsessed with him and all he wants from you is sex and pain.'_

Harleen shut off the water and stepped out on the bathtub and toweled off as she entered her bedroom. She let her gaze fall upon the dress Judith had made for her. It was beautiful.

Black lace and intricate beadwork adorned the red satin zigzagged in an almost diamond-like pattern. She took the dress from the hanger and stepped into it. She deftly pulled the zipper up her back and stood before the mirror. Her long, wet hair fell in stringy waves and she pulled it up and held it behind her head as she turned side to side and looked over her shoulder, admiring her sister's handiwork.

Judith was skilled in her craft as a seamstress. It was the reason 'Marley's Couture' was a successful business. She had three women working for her, but people paid good money for her own work. Their parents had nagged Judith for years about her using the name of her first ex-husband for her business. Judith never cared enough to argue with them, she simply told them she hated their name.

"Looking good" Judith said after blowing a whistle as Harleen joined her in the living room. Harleen blushed and looked down at the dress, running her fingers over the features.

"I don't go anywhere nice enough to wear this, Judy." Harleen said quietly.

"Hell, wear it for a Halloween costume, I don't care. It's yours, Harley and you are beautiful in it." Judith replied. They shared a laugh and Harleen returned to the bedroom, followed by her sister.

Judith carefully studied her dress as she walked around her, pinning it here and there. She may not care where her sister wore the dress, but she wouldn't be satisfied if it looked anything less than perfect.

After completing the fitting ritual, Harleen surrendered her dress to Judith and the women donned pajamas and began to clean up Harleen's 'mess'. Judith carelessly scooped up paper from the floor and piled it on the dresser while Harleen carefully removed each piece still remaining on the wall. In the end she held two photographs in her hands. Judith looked over her shoulder, resting her chin upon it.

"Is that what he used to look like?" She asked quietly as she slid the picture from Harleen's fingers and studied it.

"Yeah" Harleen replied as she set the image of him in his make-up on top of the pile. Judith set the older one of him standing before the chalkboard atop that one.

"He was attractive; I wonder what happened to him." Judith said passively.

"So do I" Harleen replied. Tears welled in her eyes again and this time she made no pretense of stopping them. Judith wrapped her arms around her and held her close as Harleen cried.

"They're going to kill him." Harleen whispered.

* * *

A/N: Harley's Dress: http:// smg .photobucket .com/albums/ v637/melvansickle/?action= view¤t;=brdress1 .jpg


	16. Save Yourself

The explosion shook the bus.

Harleen ducked and grabbed the seat backs on either side of her where she stood in the aisle.

Screams filled the air, drowning out the thunderous sounds of explosions as Gotham General Hospital was torn apart before their eyes.

The heat of closely packed bodies pushing, pushing against one another was intensified by the heat which penetrated the bus, riding on shock waves.

"Why is this happening?" A shriek pierced through the cries around her.

Bodies crushed against her as the panicked mass of some forty people surged into the aisle and toward the exit. The fact that running outside into the explosion was contraindicative of remaining in the shelter of the bus was lost on the crowd.

Harleen tried to hold the two people in the seat beside her as she was compacted by the force of others. Her chest hurt as they took her breath.

"Everyone get your asses in the seats!" A gruff voice shouted accompanied by the sound of a gun being fired.

The screams intensified as men donning clown masks and waving guns in the air joined the sensory overload of the situation.

But like cattle, the crowd obeyed as the clowns corralled them into seats with their guns. Harleen was pushed toward the gaping maw of the rear exit as she lost footing and was shoved to the floor of the aisle.

She covered her head with her arms as a set of feet walked over her, and then another. A foot came down hard on her left hand, crushing tiny bones. She cried out and tugged until her hand was freed.

She gasped and then cried out as a hand tangled itself in her hair and yanked her to her knees. Tears were in her eyes as she cradled her left hand with her right.

"Get up, bitch!" A man's voice shouted.

She obeyed him, climbing to her feet as he shoved her toward the back. She grabbed the seatback of the bench he shoved her toward with her good hand and caught a blur of something white as she fell into it.

"Let's go!" A voice called from the back, followed by more explosions.

Harleen heard the brakes release and felt the bus lurch forward, shaken again by the force of another explosion as more screams joined the now crying voices around her. She clambered in her seat until she reached a sitting position and leaned back against the side of the bus and window.

She once again cradled her injured hand and hissed at the contact as she touched her broken fingers. She drew a few deep breaths and looked around the bus.

Patients, staff and visitors were jammed into seats while the clown men braced themselves in the aisles against the movement of the bus. The men shouted at the frightened people who were crying, praying or bargaining with their captors.

Harleen's sweep of the bus ended with the seat across from hers where a nurse sat calmly in her seat, head bent and seemingly oblivious to the chaos around her.

Then she felt the blood drain from her face as she took in the nurse's. She had chalk white skin, Black eyes and red lipstick looking as if it had been applied on a roller coaster; her hair a green tangled mess.

The Joker sat across from her.

She stared at him shamelessly as he sat quietly; seemingly deep in thought. She took him in, his costume his make-up. She frowned as she studied the features across his face and saw them for what they were. Terrible scars marred his lips and cheeks, covered with red lipstick.

His face had been broadcast countless times but the images weren't very good. All anyone knew was that he dressed as a clown with frightening make-up to disguise himself. She'd never realized that make-up was also covering those horrible scars.

His eyes were on her and she raised her brows and gaped silently like a fish, holding her left hand gingerly with her right. He narrowed his eyes at her in a cold glare and she whipped her head away and looked at the window. She breathed and listened to the whimpers around her for a few long moments before looking back. He was staring at the front of the bus but paying enough attention that when she'd looked back he saw her. He turned his head and stared at her coldly until she shifted herself in her seat away from him and stared fully out the window. She didn't chance another glance back.

After what felt like an hour the bus halted within the fenced in construction zone of the Pruitt Building. Harleen only knew about the location due to its proximity to the ferry terminals. Once the bus halted the front door was opened and the men in clown masks began ushering the people come hostages out through it. She stood in the aisle and began shuffling with the rest knowing that the Joker was bringing up the rear behind her. She cringed inside knowing that the most dangerous man in the city was standing behind her with a gun pressed into her back. The reality that he could just shoot her where she stood and step over her dying body nonchalantly weighed heavily on her. She prayed silently that he wouldn't.

She and the rest of the hostages were locked in an unfinished room on the ground floor. People who knew one another huddled together and talked quietly while others tried to connect with someone else. Harleen sat against the wall, her arms wrapped around her knees while she studied the other hostages. She didn't really think about anything in particular, she merely became a sponge soaking in the stimulus around her to process at a later time.

Nothing happened for the longest time and that nothing made everyone nervous. The anticipation that something truly horrible and inconceivably evil and painful was going to happen to them permeated the room. In Harleen's studies she had learned about how people thought about and related to death. Two things had always stood out in her mind. Two of the biggest fears people had about death were what happened after they died and if it would hurt. Given the reactions of the others, she knew they were thinking about both.

The clowns came for Mike Engel.

He went with them quietly, but looked worriedly at his crew and then the rest of the hostages. Harleen took in his expression like a snapshot.

Once he was gone some of the others began to voice their thoughts about what was happening to him and what would happen next. It wasn't long before the entire room erupted in argument.

Harleen's brain took it all in as she sat quietly by herself. Time passed, a few punches were thrown and the brouhaha began to fade until the door opened once again.

This time the Joker strode in flanked by two men in clown masks. Harleen marveled how she had not seen any two masks alike, like snowflakes.

The Joker stood a few feet inside the room dressed like he was in every other image Harleen had seen him in, sans purple overcoat and with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He surveyed the hostages and then his gaze fell upon her. His cheek twitched and he started toward her.

She bristled and then clambered to her feet and pressed herself against the wall, shaking her head as she tried to move away. She was like a deer in the headlights, frozen by his dark eyes which looked black. He reached her and grabbed her wrist in a surprisingly powerful grip and wrenched it. She cried out as he dragged her from the room and pleaded for him to let her go. _Just let her go back into the room._

If he heard her, he gave no indication that he had. He marched her through the half-finished hallways and into another room and practically whipped her inside. She stumbled and tripped on her foot and fell on the floor. She looked up and saw Mike Engel tied to a chair and frowned, perplexed.

"_So_, you were saying that you don't want to talk to your adoring public." The Joker said as he stepped over her and then between her and Mike. He looked at Harleen with a malicious grin and reached down and grabbed her by the hair and pulled her into a sitting position. She screamed and felt tears stream down cheeks.

"It's easy to say that when you're not on camera and no one can refute what you say. If nobody saw it then it didn't happen, right?" Joker asked.

"I, I don't know…" Mike stammered as he looked at Harleen with a frightened expression.

"Shut up!" The Joker snapped. "You have a choice, you can go on screen and deliver my little 'pep talk' to the city, or you can watch this girl die and the city will condemn you for your decision."

The Joker retrieved a hand-held camera from a bench and pointed it at Mike, adjusted some settings and laid it on a table to record Mike's face. He looked at Harleen and smiled without mirth as he stepped over to her. She drew away, but he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her to her feet. She looked at Mike pleadingly but couldn't make herself speak.

"So, what's it going to be, Mike, are you going to do the broadcast or does little Blondie here have to die?" He asked and then grabbed Harleen's broken fingers and squeezed them in a firm grip. Harleen howled in pain and her stomach lurched.

"No!" Mike yelled.

"No? No what, Mister Engel?" The Joker asked laughing. Harleen tried to look at the Joker's face but then her fingers exploded in white hot pain as he twisted them and bent them backward.

Harleen screamed louder than she ever had and her knees gave out beneath her. She was supported entirely by one of Joker's arms around her waist while he worked her broken fingers as if he were playing her like an instrument.

At that point she mercifully blacked out.

When Harleen awoke she was lying on the cold cement floor with her wrists bound and tape over her mouth. She heard quiet weeping and looked around. Some of the other hostages were with her, bound like she was. Men walked around them donning doctor's garb, some carrying guns while others taped weapons into the hands of the hostages and slipped clown masks over their heads.

Harleen began to hyperventilate and she sat up and turned to see the Joker pointing and issuing orders to a couple other men. He picked up a gun and a roll of tape and headed in her direction. She quickly turned away and lay back down and winced when she heard him laughing.

He sat her up and she looked over at someone else who began screaming behind their gag. Harleen frowned sympathetically and the Joker grabbed her head and turned it back to face him.

"Do you _really_ care about these people, Doc_tor_?" He asked in a mocking tone. Harleen nodded and he chuckled and she winced when he touched her left hand.

"Hold still and this won't hurt." He said in a calm even tone. She watched him finish his work and then look at her, titling his head curiously. He patted her head and walked away only to return with a mask in hand.

"Maybe you'll even be one of the lucky ones and you'll live." He said as he carefully slipped the mask in place on her head. He looked at her again and smiled, patting her on the head like a pet before disappearing from view.

* * *

Harleen woke with a start and rolled over to find her sister sleeping soundly beside her. She carefully climbed out of bed and made her way into the living room where she curled up on the sofa, arms wrapped around her legs. She began to quietly cry.

It had been a while since she'd dreamt of the day the Joker had taken her hostage. Months of therapy and participation in a group with some of the others had helped. Ultimately it was working with the man himself which had made the most difference. In doing so she had furthered her career, destroyed her relationship with her fiancé and against all belief fallen in love with the Joker.

She knew it was no longer a choice. She had to save him.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading and all of your wonderful reviews!


	17. Sleight of Hand

A/N: David Rubenstein is based on the likeness of actor Michael Weston.

This chapter ties into the story "Sometimes Salvation."

* * *

Harleen sipped her coffee as she leaned against the passenger side door of Judith's car. The sun was beginning to rise and the fiery light shone off the façade of the Amusement Mile boardwalk storefront. Beside her, Judith buried her hands deep within her pockets and her breath came like smoke in the cold air.

"So, do you mind telling me why we're here instead of getting you ready for the big show?" Judith asked bitterly.

"There are only eighteen like it in North America." Harleen replied and took another sip from the plastic lidded paper cup. "One of the few places left where you can actually grab the proverbial 'brass ring.'"

"And it's closed at six-thirty in the morning." Judith grumbled.

"Do you have anywhere else to be?" Harleen asked and set her cup on the roof of the car before making her way to the Robert and William Carousel.

She leaned close to the glass and covered the sides of her face with her hands to get a better look inside. The floor and ceiling of the carousel house were made of brightly polished wood. The ornate animals were lined up in rows in their endless parade. In the back corner she saw the large clown face target with an open grinning mouth.

She was certain that Joker had been here. She wondered if it was a favorite place from his childhood where 'little Joker' as he'd called himself had actually had fun. A fond memory of his past, one of the few he hadn't drowned in the pool of things to be half-remembered or forgotten.

"Harley, it's freaking cold! Let's get back and eat something already." Judith called.

"Alright," Harley sighed and returned to the car which Judith had already started.

Harley slid into her seat and buckled her seatbelt. Judith put the car into drive and the two women heard a soft thud and looked toward the back to see Harleen's coffee spilling down the rear window as the cup hit the pavement behind them.

"Shit!" Judith grumbled and Harleen chuckled as they returned to her apartment building.

* * *

Joker sat in the chair of a therapy room with his head bent and his hands bound in his lap. Behind him he heard the whispering of scissors as the orderly worked. Days ago Harley had likened him to the 'Wild Man of Borneo' and her voice had stuck in his head like a broken record. It was the last time he'd seen her.

Jack Napier had once sat in a courtroom while lawyers debated whether or not to allow Joe Chill to be released into the wilds of Gotham after a fourteen year stint in Blackgate Penitentiary. He'd doodled in a notebook while the reporters around him actively revised their accounts of the parole hearing. Having had enough of the drama enacted before him, he'd left the courtroom for the cool winter air outside to take his place for his part in the play.

What had made the most impact on him had been the lackadaisical attitude of the Press covering the event. It had left him with a bad taste in his mouth and a promise that should he end up in court, it would be anything but boring.

That day Jack Napier had killed Joe Chill for his boss.

Coincidentally, that was also the day Bruce Wayne had disappeared. The only man besides himself who'd stood outside the courtroom with a gun in his hand. The man Jack had observed in an ill-fated confrontation with Carmine Falcone afterward.

He'd occasionally thought of Bruce Wayne over the years, had wondered what had happened to him. If Falcone had wanted him dead, he would have sent Jack to do the job. Instead Bruce Wayne had left the restaurant and vanished like an apparition only to reappear years later in the same fashion.

In that time Jack Napier had also vanished; died, transformed into the man he was today. And the Joker had taken notice of Bruce Wayne as he traveled incognito in the Narrows trailing Jack's old boss. Unfortunately for the both of them, Falcone had been taken out of the game by one Jonathan Crane.

The door opened and Joker looked up to see his lawyer enter carrying a black suit bag. Joker smirked as David Rubenstein laid the bag on the table and took a seat across from him, perplexed and wrinkling his brow. The young lawyer had drawn Joker in a bad round of Pro-Bono roulette and had struggled with his case for more than a year.

Joker had kept the man around because he amused him and had made promises of a financial windfall should he ever win his freedom. What hadn't amused Joker was the way Rubenstein interacted with Doctor Harley. The not too subtle Casanova had it for his doctor and judging from her reaction to him, he had made plenty of unsuccessful passes at her.

"You clean up good, at least." Rubenstein said as he studied Joker with his blue eyes. Joker chuckled and craned his neck to look at the orderly behind him.

"You about done there?" Joker grumbled and then looked at his hands and studied his clipped and clean fingernails.

Harley had inspired him with her words and actions of the past week. When he entered the courtroom today, everyone expected him to look hopelessly insane, perhaps even barking at the witness gallery. They were expecting the clown, wild-eyed and frothing at his scarred mouth. He was not about to give them that satisfaction.

* * *

Commissioner Gordon filled his cup from the break room pot which held fresh coffee tainted by the simmered ghosts of coffee past. He made his way to his office and planted himself in his chair setting down his cup and removing his glasses to rub his tired eyes. When he reopened them, he spied a bright green envelope placed directly in the center of his desk.

_**Commissioner Gordon**_

The words were printed neatly in black ink across the envelope which looked like it would hold a greeting card. Gordon felt fingers climbing up his spine and electricity at his fingertips as he gingerly touched the envelope.

"Not today." He said quietly.

He picked up the envelope and flipped it over and using a letter opener, carefully opened the sealed flap. It held a single piece of green cardstock matching the color of the envelope. He pulled the card free of its confines and read the black ink words.

**Riddle Me This**

**What makes Gold Glitter in Air,**

**Smells as Almond Pink,**

**And makes the Violet Jester**

**Glow like a Ruddy Sky?**

It was another death threat against the Joker. Unlike the rest, however, it had been hand delivered to his office sometime in either the night or early morning. He sighed heavily as his heartbeat sped up and picked up his telephone receiver.

* * *

Harleen fussed with her red blouse, tucking it inside her black pencil skirt and making sure it wasn't bunching anywhere. Judith sighed heavily from where she was seated on the bed.

"You look fine." She said annoyed and Harleen gave her a sharp look. Nothing about today was certain; the only thing she could control was her appearance.

For two days she had been cooped up at home as Doctor Arkham, the D.A. and Commissioner Gordon had decided that it would be safer for her to remain there once news of the hearing had been leaked early Monday morning along with her identity as the Joker's psychiatrist. The public at large knew about her and the Press had been calling her and everyone who'd ever met her trying to get information to broadcast.

The Police and District Attorney's office had managed to control information pertaining to the case that was not already public knowledge. But media outlets had sent reporters to Arkham, the Academy and anywhere else she was known to frequent to ask questions about her. It was a wonder that she had been able to escape for the brief time that morning to visit Amusement Mile.

Harleen began to fuss with her hair and with that Judith jumped from the bed and picked up a brush and attacked Harleen's blonde mane herself. She brushed it and gathered and twisted the fine strands into a bun which she secured in place with pins and hairspray. Harleen indulged herself in the moment and the memories of when her sister had played with her hair when they were children and then later in life for dances and weddings. She sniffed back tears and turned to meet Judith's blue gaze.

"I love you Judy." She said, smiling wan. Judith's face became sympathetic and she seemed to fight back tears of her own as she pulled Harleen into an embrace.

"Love ya too, little sis."

* * *

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Detective Stevens grumbled, holding a photocopy of the message Gordon had received.

"I sent the letter to forensics, other than that it's a puzzle." Gordon took a drink of his coffee and glanced at the other gathered officers who were studying copies of their own.

"Where is Nashton, he'd have this figured out in ten seconds." Montoya sighed and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration.

"He's watching Doctor Quinzel." Gordon replied. Stevens snorted as did two other male officers.

"I could watch that for the rest of my life." Someone chuckled.

"Poor guy, he really grabbed the shit detail." Hartlet said sarcastically. "Whoever he pissed off, I get next dibs."

Gordon cleared his throat and the officer made a sour face and looked back at the paper.

"It's a chemical." Montoya said tapping pen on paper. "Some sort of poison, one that has an almond smell."

"Guy tells us he's gonna poison the Joker and what he's going to use? What is the point of that?" Stevens asked.

"To see if we can stop him before he does." Gordon replied.

"And what antidote to use, chances are good that it is something that can be dispersed into a crowd and he's telling us to reduce collateral damage." Montoya chimed in.

"What is with these guys?" Roberts asked. "It's like whatever hole the Joker crawled out of, he left the damn gate open."

"Hey, this article says that there are two types of almonds. Sweet almonds grow on trees with white flowers and bitter almond trees have pink flowers." Jones said looking up from his computer.

"I got it, the Joker is allergic to bitter almonds and someone plans on throwing a handful of them into a crowd." Someone chimed in jokingly.

Gordon's head sunk to his chest and he shook it and sighed heavily.

* * *

Detective Nashton nodded as he listened to the caller on his cell phone and looked up as the door to Doctor Quinzel's apartment opened.

"Yeah, bitter almonds huh. What about gold?" He glimpsed Quinzel and her sister as they emerged and closed the door behind them. Judith Marley poked her sister and giggled while Harleen looked at him bashfully. He smiled at them.

"Well, I'll certainly let you know if I think of something. In the meantime I have a couple of lovely ladies to escort to the courthouse." He said and chuckled at the sarcastic response he received and closed his phone.

"Is something wrong?" Harleen Quinzel asked, frowning slightly.

"Not at all" he replied and walked the women down to the cruiser parked in the garage.

During the drive he spied Harleen through the rearview mirror and studied her lovely features. In short order the Joker would be out of her life leaving a vacancy he could fill quite easily.

* * *

Joker exited the SWAT van flanked by several officers, the irony not lost on him. He smirked as he passed trough the back doors of the courthouse and was lead to the tiny windowless conference room where they would wait.

Minutes ticked away and Joker sat calmly in his seat, breathing in the fresh air and smell of old books on the room's shelves. He placed his hands on his knees and watched absently as Rubenstein paced endlessly; mouthing silent words.

He studied the actions and expressions of those around him, acutely aware of his surroundings. He had the uncanny ability to take in and process each and every detail in his environment. If he was driven to madness as they said he was, it was because of the over stimulation caused by this ability. How could someone's mind hold up when they were able to integrate everything?

A heavy knock sounded on the door and Joker watched as every head in the room swiveled toward it. He smiled and stood, casually straightening the sleeves of his suit jacket at his wrists.

"Come on boys, it's Showtime." He chuckled.

As usual only he seemed to be amused by this as he took in every reaction. He stood a bit straighter and held up his head as he walked, engaging those he passed with his gaze. They were all players in this game. Everyone had a role though this concept seemed to be lost on most. No one was unimportant. As disposable as people could be, each one served a purpose in the game. Joker just didn't like the rules to that game, and why did no one understand this?

Cheating was so much fun.

He was treated to the familiarity of the courtroom and all the familiar faces within. His eyes swept the witness gallery and paused briefly on those of Bruce Wayne. The man sat stoically beside the lovely Miss Catwoman. Joker smiled and winked at the 'happy' couple as surprised as he was to see the two of them together. Bruce Wayne frowned at him, darkness in his eyes. Selina Kyle gave him the finger.

As he reached the end of the long table he was meant to sit behind he spied a man in the back of the room who stared at him fully. Joker tilted his head and the man in the green suit raised his cane and tilted it toward him in response.

Then he found her. Blue eyes hidden behind black-rimmed glasses sitting demurely with her hands folded in her lap. She looked at him and then discretely lowered her head before stealing another glance at him. Dressed in red and black, the colors of Anarchy, he smiled at the memory of a dream he'd had. Something tugged at the back of his mind but he quickly dismissed it as he took his seat.

The judge entered and the curtain was raised.

* * *

Gordon along with a few of the detectives watched the courtroom proceedings from the CCTV feed. Doctor Quinzel was on the stand. The room was a flurry of activity as everyone worked on the riddle, trying to decipher the identity of the toxin. Detective Stevens was at the courthouse and Montoya spoke with him on the phone coordinating officers there.

The Joker had managed to infiltrate the courthouse and Police Department seemingly without effort, but he had the aid of the Gotham Mobs on his side. Now he was surrounded in a closed room with people who hated him, many of whom would happily kill him themselves. Determining which of them had sent the riddle was the hard part.

"Potassium cyanide," Detective Jones said beside him. Gordon nodded and then turned to the man frowning.

"Hmm, what?" Gordon asked taking a printout from the man.

"Potassium cyanide is our poison. It's used in gold mining and is highly soluble in water. In water it makes hydrogen cyanide which smells like bitter almonds, except few people can smell it. In acute poisoning the person dies pretty quickly through cardiac arrest. And first responders can be poisoned as well through CPR." Jones said looking gravely at the television. Gordon read the page and looked at the screen as well.

The Joker was drinking from a glass of water.

* * *

Harleen's gaze kept returning to Joker who smiled at her. She wondered at the change in his appearance. He'd cut, or rather had his hair cut short. The blonde curls were absent any remaining green color. He wore a dark grey suit and had made a tremendous effort to clean himself up. Without the scars on his face, no one would have recognized him as the Joker and she knew that was what he wanted.

Throw people off balance like the Tilt a Whirl in one of his papers. Have a few laughs. It was classic Joker.

While seated in the gallery she'd heard gasps around her as he was led into the courtroom.

"_Is that the Joker?"_ A woman's voice had said in disbelief.

She was sure he had gotten a kick out of it. Gone was the wild man of Borneo. She supposed his pride would not allow himself to be led into court looking like a common criminal or raving lunatic.

"And in your professional opinion, is the Joker sane?" Assistant District Attorney Anthony Hall asked leaning close to her and blocking her view of Joker.

"Joker suffers from severe mental illness." She said and behind Hall she saw Joker sit back in his seat and roll his eyes. He reached for his glass and finished drinking its contents before indicating to his lawyer that it should be refilled.

"Does he recognize that his actions were wrong?" Hall said trying to maintain his composure. Behind him Joker laughed.

"Joker not only recognizes that his actions were criminal, he also had a sense of pride in them." Harleen replied. Gasps and angry murmurs filled the room.

"He's proud of what he did?" Anthony Hall repeated.

"Yes" Harleen nodded. "He was _legally_ sane at the time of his crimes. But I have to emphasize that he suffers severe mental illness and would like to impress upon the court that he should remain under psychiatric care."

"Your witness" Anthony Hall smirked at David Rubenstein as the younger man stood and buttoned his suit jacket. Harleen looked at Joker who seemed to be flushed and was fiddling with his tie.

"Doctor Quinzel, how long have you been treating the Joker?" David asked fixing a hard look on her. She clasped her hands in her lap and took a breath remembering the last time she'd seen this little weasel he'd tried to slip his hand beneath her skirt.

"Seven months." She replied.

"And in that time have all of your interactions with my client been, _professional_?" He asked. He frowned at him and saw Joker staring at his back in the same way.

"Of course, as with all of my patients" she replied. It didn't matter what she said, whispers swept across the room at his question alone. A pretty doctor and a crazed madman, surely only romance could ensue.

"Have you ever had interactions with your other patients in your personal life?" David asked. Harley felt a tightening in her chest. She looked at Joker and saw he had loosened his tie and was drinking from his glass once more.

"No, all of my patients reside in Arkham Asylum." She replied. Someone chuckled in the gallery.

"How about before they took up residence in Arkham Asylum?" David asked sharply. Harleen pursed her lips.

"No." She replied growing agitated; the tightening pulling into a knot.

"How about the Joker?" He asked. Harleen shook her head.

"Doctor Quinzel, we need a verbal response." David prodded.

"No. I had no personal interactions with Joker prior to his incarceration." She snapped. Joker was looking between her and David curiously. He was bent slightly forward and rubbing his left arm as best he could.

"Tell me about your whereabouts on the day my client bombed Gotham General Hospital." David said; a gleam in his eyes. Harleen felt dizzy.

"I was on staff at Gotham General." She said. She shook her head. "I know what you're getting at, why dance around it, David."

"Objection, he's leading the witness" Hall called out standing and looking at them worriedly. Harleen looked from him to Joker whose full attention was on her.

"Objection denied." The Judge said sounding very interested.

"Were you one of the hostages taken by the Joker from Gotham General Hospital?" David asked smugly.

"I was." She replied. She looked at Joker who stared back in disbelief. He really hadn't remembered her.

"What happened during your captivity?" He asked.

"I don't see what this has to do with…" Anthony Hall started.

"Your honor, this bears on witness credibility." David stated.

"The witness will answer the question." The Judge replied.

"The Joker broke two of my fingers." She replied and looked at Joker who stood slightly, doubled over. "Your honor, there's something wrong with…" she said standing.

"Doctor Quinzel, you will remain seated." The Judge ordered.

Joker collapsed on the floor. Harleen shoved open the door of the witness stand and rushed toward the defense's table, flanked by officers, one of whom grabbed her.

"No!" She cried trying to pull away. An officer crouched beside Joker and touched his throat.

"He's not breathing." He said. Harleen pulled free and was at Joker's side. She felt his neck for a pulse and laid her ear to his lips.

"We need paramedics in here, now!" She cried.

The room erupted in startled cries and shouting. Harleen was surrounded by uniformed officers and a very surprised defense attorney. Officers began clearing people from the courtroom. Harleen tilted Joker's head back and pinched his nose closed with her fingers and breathed into his mouth.

She administered two breaths and drew back, touching his neck again, the taste of bitter almonds filling her mouth. His pulse was erratic. She placed her mouth over his once again and breathed.

She breathed into his mouth over and over again, the bitter taste thick in her own. She felt dizzy and swept her hand across her forehead before closing her mouth over his again.

She sat up when the paramedics appeared and someone helped her to her feet. Spots swam in her vision and she grabbed the end of the table for balance. The ground shifted beneath her and she fell hard on the floor and lost consciousness.


	18. Goodbye Doesn't Mean Forever

A/N: Renee Montoya is based on the likeness of actress Monique Gabriela Curnen.

* * *

Harleen stood at the front door, gazing outside through the small window, her hand on the doorknob. Although dressed in her pink pajamas and wearing her hair in pigtails, she was ready to exit at a moments notice when the mail was delivered. She was expecting something special. Eagerness and trepidation filled her and she bobbed on the balls of her feet in anticipation.

"Down boy!" She said swatting at the yellow puppy with his purple spiked collar as he yipped and climbed her leg and then scratched at the door. She smiled at the puppy and reached down to stroke his short fur.

She glimpsed movement outside and stood straight and watched the mail carrier begin to climb the porch stairs. In her excitement, she threw the door open and greeted the man with a smile.

"Afternoon," he said and then looked down as the blonde puppy raced past him and down the sidewalk.

"Jack, no!" Harleen cried as she raced after him.

The puppy reached the street and turned around to look at her, barking happily as she ran toward him. Harleen never even saw the car, only the happy tongue lolling from Jack's mouth. In a moment the puppy lay in the street after shrieking a piercing yelp and lay whining and writhing as he tried to get up. Harleen reached the puppy and gingerly lifted the small bleeding body from the road as another car screeched to a halt and the driver yelled at her.

Carrying the small body in her arms, Harleen ran back to the house and into the living room where she looked at the tall man and petite woman standing there, watching passively.

"Jack's hurt!" She cried and she laid the whining puppy on the floor and sat beside it, stroking his soft fur as his delicate hazel eyes focused on hers.

"I'm so sorry," she cried petting the trembling body. "Why did you have to run?"

She looked up at the man and woman with pleading eyes.

"Help him, please!" Harleen sobbed and the woman touched her shoulder gently.

"There's nothing we can do, Harley." Joan Leland said, her brown eyes filled with sympathy.

"It's just a dog, Harleen. We will get you a new one." Jeremiah Arkham said dismissively as he crossed his arms and turned his back on her before walking away.

* * *

James Gordon stood in a conference room at the courthouse, overseeing the investigation while officers continued to process staff and witnesses and forensics processed the courtroom. The Joker and Doctor Quinzel had already been transported to Gotham City Hospital under heavy guard.

"The lawyer and courtroom tapes are being taken back to headquarters." Detective Stephens said entering the room. "Montoya's on her way over to the hospital to talk to Quinzel when she wakes up. Any word on," he paused seeming reluctant to continue "the Joker?" He finished.

"The Joker is in intensive care." Gordon sighed as he looked over the preliminary list of those in attendance. "We're going to need to know who had access to the courtroom prior to the hearing as well."

"I thought the lawyer looked good for this." Stephens said sounding put out.

"The lawyer wasn't in my office this morning." Gordon replied settling his gaze on Stephens.

"So he's not this riddle guy, probably working for him though" Stephens mused. "Even if he'd killed the Joker we'd still be looking into this, huh?"

"Of course we would." Gordon said icily. "Anything less and we would be casting everything that the department and Harvey Dent worked for to the wayside."

"Pretty ironic considering everything the Joker did to Dent, isn't it?" Stephens smirked and then left to join the other officers.

* * *

Harleen blinked awake at the prompts of the nurse standing at her bedside. She tried to turn and found herself tangled in assorted wires and IV's.

"Welcome back to the world of the living." The redhead nodded and Harleen shifted her gaze to the brunette entering the room wearing a suit and a serious expression.

"Doctor Quinzel, I am Detective Montoya" she said as she came to a stop beside Harleen. Harleen focused on her, her eyes feeling watery and her lungs sore. She ached all over.

"What happened?" Harleen asked in a small voice, swimming in half-consciousness.

"You have been poisoned." Detective Montoya replied.

"Poisoned?" Harleen asked in a haze. Then an image of the Joker lying on the floor of the courtroom came into sharp focus in her mind.

"Joker!" She gasped trying to sit up. Montoya and the nurse gripped her firmly and laid her back upon her bed.

"Settle down Doctor" the nurse ordered and Montoya indicated that she should leave.

"Your family is waiting outside but I need to ask you a few questions before they come in." Montoya said.

"Where is he? Is he alright?" Harleen begged weakly. Montoya's features set in a confused frown. She eyed Harleen warily.

"He is in intensive care." She replied. "He was poisoned and suffered a heart attack. You were poisoned as well in the course of performing rescue breathing. Do you remember this?"

"Yes" Harleen nodded. "What was he, were we poisoned with?"

"Cyanide" Montoya replied. Harleen nodded.

"He was drinking a lot of water and then he started showing signs of a heart attack." Harleen said ticking off details on her fingers. "Cyanide works fast."

"Have you received any death threats?" Montoya asked and Harleen chuckled. "Let me rephrase that, have you received any ominous messages, framed as questions?"

"Questions?" Harleen frowned in thought. "Just things like, 'how could you treat that monster' and 'how do you live with yourself.'" Montoya mused.

"Has the Joker received any correspondence of the sort?" Montoya asked.

"All of his correspondence goes through Doctor Arkham and myself. He hasn't had any letters like what you're asking. He also had never received any personal correspondence." Harleen replied.

"Nothing from any family, his mother, or anyone close?" Montoya frowned.

"No. I've always thought that was sad." Harleen replied. Montoya nodded.

"Call me if you think of anything, I'll be in touch. Take care Doctor Quinzel." Montoya said briskly, laying a business card on a tray table and exiting the room. Harleen closed her eyes and laid her head back against her pillow.

"Harleen!" Her mother's voice cried as the older woman entered the room followed by Judy. Harleen managed a weak smile as her mind whirred around the word, 'poisoned.'

"Mom" she said taking her mother's thin hand.

Her eyes were blue grey and creased with crows feet. Her blonde hair was accented with silver strands and hung around her shoulders in not quite disarray. She had been playing with it in worry, something Harleen had gotten from her. Her mother began crying and she wrapped her arms around her daughter as best as she could, kissing her on the forehead and nuzzling against her.

"Dad is on his way from Metropolis. Sara and Peter are coming too." Judith said and Harleen saw her wringing her fingers. Harleen nodded and held her mother who stroked her hair.

"I can't believe that horrible man keeps hurting you." Her mother said in a broken voice. Harleen sighed.

That horrible man needed her now more than ever. Somehow she needed to see him.

* * *

Joker felt like someone had kicked him in the chest. His head ached and he felt weak. Being tied down to the bed didn't help either but he wasn't ready to put up a fight. The last thing he remembered was Harley's eyes on him as she said she had been one of his hostages and that he had broken her fingers.

He closed his eyes and replayed the scene in his mind again. The sneaky bastard lawyer had known. And she had never told him. He felt a twinge and shook it off. He tried to conjure her from that night so long ago but only came up with the Bat. They had pumped him full of so many drugs in Arkham that it had affected his memories of the events leading to his capture. Let alone the one's he had already tried to forget.

He wanted to remember her and the fact that he couldn't pick out one little face frustrated him. She was just a hostage, like all the others. The only one he remembered clearly was Engel, pompous even when he was pissing in fear. Audacity in his tone as he told Joker he would not help him send his message. The sleazy newsman had hours before made a media sensation out of a lawyer who thought he knew who Batman was and he wouldn't read a few pieces of paper to the camera for Joker.

Joker heard the heart monitor making noises and craned his neck to see spikes racing across the screen in neat little rows. A nurse flanked by two Police officers came in to check him, her hair pulled into a tight bun. Joker blinked.

The blonde.

The nurse injected something into his IV and he felt release as the drug coursed through his veins. He closed his eyes and savored the sensation. In more than a year he hadn't felt this sweet intoxication. He didn't notice when they left the room.

He saw her holding her hand as she stared at him guilelessly from her seat on the bus. She stared at him like he was some sort of attraction, not a merciless killer who could end her life in a moment. It had pissed him off.

He'd gone for the blonde because he had wanted to impress upon her and Engel that they would do what he wanted and not because he would make promises for their personal safety. They would do it because he would hurt them anyway. People in that situation are so baffled by the concept that they go along with what they are told because in the back of their minds they think there's an inkling of hope that everything will be okay.

Blondie had known better. So he had made the small reassurance that perhaps she would be lucky if only to fuck with her.

He had greatly underestimated her.

* * *

Harleen lay staring at the television while her mind raced. It was well past visiting hours and her mother had been reluctantly dragged away by her father. In the morning her other sister and brother and their respective children would come to visit 'Aunt Harley.' She wished that she could think about them and not about Him and what she had to do.

"_I don't know who you are anymore, Harley. This job, that maniac has changed you." Brian had said angrily as he stuffed his belongings into bags as she stood over him in her bedroom._

"_That doesn't excuse your behavior. People change, it doesn't mean you fuck other women in their beds while they are at work." She spat crossing her arms._

Brian had married Caitlyn three weeks ago. Harleen wondered if he was cheating on her yet.

Harleen had never told Joker about her former fiancé, just as she hadn't told him that she had once been his prisoner. Perhaps at one point she had thought about revenge against the man but as she had spent more time with him, things had changed.

And _she_ had changed.

Harleen rose from her bed and turned off the IV machine and carefully unhooked it from her arm, capping the port in her elbow so that it wouldn't leak. She padded quietly across the cold floor and watched the quiet hallway while she wrapped another gown around her back. Satisfied that the evening staff had settled in, she quickly made her way down the hallway to the stairs.

She had worked here briefly following the destruction of Gotham General Hospital and knew how to get what and where she wanted. She exited the stairwell two floors down and made her way to the locker room. Once inside she shed her gowns and donned a pair of scrubs and slippers with sanitary coverings on her feet. She pulled her hair up and tucked it beneath a cap. She then donned a white jacket and a mask over her mouth.

Then she returned to the hall and made her way to the intensive care ward. She glanced at the whiteboard listing the room numbers and patient names and strode to the nurses station from which she retrieved Joker's chart. She flipped the folder open and casually glanced at it and then closed it as she strode toward his room with authority.

The guards nodded to her and one followed her inside. She saw Joker look up, blinking and he tried to shift beneath his restraints. A flood of excitement washed over her as she saw he had a healthy color, and he was alive! Seeing him was what made it all real to her. She smiled beneath her mask.

She stepped forward and gently picked up the edge of the blanket and then looked at the officer.

"If you don't mind giving me a few minutes, I need to check his catheter." She said and the officer made a disgusted face and left the room.

She looked back at the Joker who was giving her a shit-eating grin and she whipped back the sheet and blanket. She grabbed the end of the catheter and yanked it out. Joker gasped and then closed his eyes tightly and gnashed his teeth. When he reopened his eyes they were narrowed at her, his mouth pulled into a distorted grimace.

"What the hell was that, Harley?" He snarled.

"That was for hurting me." She said plainly and then removed her mask as her eyes wandered over his body and restraints. He took a few breaths to ease himself before speaking again.

"Harley, I…" he began.

"No!" She hissed quietly. "You're going to shut up and listen for once in your life."

He chuckled quietly and looked at her bemused.

"Someone poisoned you. You had a heart attack because of it." She said.

"Yeah, I heard that." He said mockingly.

"Shut. Up." She hissed. "You need medical attention, I can't stress that enough. As soon as you are stabilized to their satisfaction, you are going to be hauled back to Arkham." She drew a breath and placed her hands on the restraint on his right wrist. He looked at her curiously.

"This guy, I don't know who he is, but he tried to kill you and he almost got me too." She said and choked back a small sob. "You're not safe here, or Arkham and most definitely not at Blackgate." She looked at him and he nodded, staring at her. She began to loosen the restraint.

"The police said that he sent a message, a death threat in the form of a question. Like a riddle." She said as she freed his hand and then moved around the bed to the other side and began working on his other one. He followed her with his eyes.

"I thought you should know that." She said quietly and a tear rolled down her face and landed on his forearm. He looked at his arm and then at her and raised his right hand to her face, wiping her cheek with his thumb. She drew away slightly and then leaned into his touch.

"I don't know who you people see, but you need a doctor, and to stay out of trouble. Otherwise you're just going to kill yourself and you and I both know you don't want that." She said as she freed his other hand.

They worked quickly at removing the rest of the restraints and Joker sat up, catching her around the waist and pulling her against him.

"Harley, you're the greatest." He said and pressed his lips against her cheek in a sloppy kiss. She ran her fingers through his soft, short blonde curls and then drew away, looking at his face for a moment. He looked at her quietly with that winsome expression she adored.

She pulled the mask back over her face and turned her back to him, leaving him behind.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for all of your wonderful reveiws!


	19. Some Kind of Light into Your Darkness

A/N: Melvin Reipan is based on the likeness of actor James Franco. Sam Moretti is based on the likeness of actor Bruce Campbell.

* * *

"I'm gonna go take a leak, Jerry," Alan Watts said shifting in his seat and looking at his partner who seemed half-asleep.

"You sure you want to leave me alone with," Jerry tilted his head toward the doorway and made a mock shiver, "the Joker in there." Alan shook his head and chuckled.

"I think you can take a guy who's tied to a bed." Alan snorted and rose, heading down the hall to the bathroom.

Watts had been on the force for fifteen years and though the Joker was the worst they'd seen, the guy was not threat at the moment. The Joker had planned out everything he'd done over a year ago and carefully executed his crimes with the aide of roughly a hundred guys, mob and crazies alike. All of his men who hadn't died had it out for the Joker. Everyone had it out for the Joker. Should the Joker do so much as poke his head outside, he would have a hole in it before he knew what hit him.

Gordon had the hospital under heavy guard with officers patrolling every floor and squads stationed at each entry point outside the building, both to keep the Joker in and anyone who wanted at him out.

Not to mention that the Batman had reappeared in recent weeks. It was night and Watts suspected that the Bat was watching as well.

Watts took his time in the bathroom and once he'd finished there he'd made his way to the coffee vendor and plunked in his change to get two steaming paper cups of the finest of machine brew. He passed the nurses' station and paused for a couple of minutes to flirt with the cute one he'd been eyeing all night. During that time she'd noted an irregularity on the screen in the Joker's vitals, but chalked it up to glitches they sometimes had when patients shifted in their beds.

Satisfied that he would have Nancy's number by the end of the shift, Watts returned to his post outside the Joker's room and frowned when he didn't see Jerry there. He set the cups down on the seat and drew his service weapon and ducked inside the room. In the dim light he saw the Joker's restrained sleeping form hooked up to the various monitors. Deciding that Jerry had gone off to take a leak himself, he returned to his chair outside and picked up a cup, leaving one on Jerry's seat.

* * *

"Paging Doctor Stone to ICU, Code Silver; Doctor Stone to ICU, Code Silver," the voice called over the intercom.

Harleen's eyes snapped open at the words and she sat up, heart pounding as a harried officer entered her room and looked at her before speaking into his radio.

"All clear in 315, Doctor Quinzel is in her room." He blurted and looked into the hallway and then back at her nervously.

"What's wrong, officer?" Harleen asked knowing full well what the emergency codes meant. They had discovered the Joker had escaped.

"Nothing to be worried about, Doctor Quinzel," the officer stammered as another one entered the room.

Harleen lay back on the bed and looked at the clock. Six and a half hours had passed since she had released Joker from his restraints. He had taken his time to escape. She realized the officers were there to protect her from him. She closed her eyes and took calming breaths, assuring herself that she had made the right decision in setting him free.

* * *

Gordon listened to the APB being called out over the radio and removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. At five-thirty in the morning, the Joker had gotten loose of his restraints and subdued one of the officers guarding his room. He had then tied the officer down in his place and switched the monitoring leads to the officer and taken his uniform and waltzed out of the hospital undetected.

He had just finished reviewing the security tape from ICU after interviewing the officer's partner who swore he'd left the man alone for only a few minutes. Gordon had learned long ago that the Joker worked quickly and could pull off a lot in little time. They were searching for the car the Joker had stolen from the staff parking lot.

He thought back to three nights prior when he'd wandered out onto the roof of headquarters to clear his head, and draw on some nostalgia of a time when a man in black had visited him and given him aid in his fight against organized crime and corruption in Gotham.

He hadn't seen Batman in more than a year and had decided that the crusader had given up his fight in the wake of the Joker's crimes and Harvey Dent's death. That was, until the night a little over a month ago when he'd delivered one of Carmine Falcone's sons to the GPD in the same manner in which he had the Roman himself. Gordon had drawn a sort of pride and satisfaction in the knowledge that Batman had returned.

In the same manner as he had in the past, Batman had appeared before him once again that night. He had questioned the D.A.'s decision to make the Joker's hearing public and given Gordon words of caution that no good could come from doing so. For obvious reasons, Gordon couldn't tell Anthony Hall that Batman thought his public hearing was a bad idea. As predicted, everything had gone wrong and now the Joker had escaped once more.

Gordon spied the dawn light through the glass-walled hallway and regretted that it would be hours before Batman could begin his hunt.

* * *

Bruce Wayne entered the spacious, marble bathroom in his luxurious penthouse after another sleepless night. He splashed cold water over his face before reaching inside the glass-enclosed shower and turning on the water. Steam began to fill the chamber as he removed his clothes and a heavy weight burdened his shoulders as he recalled the radio traffic.

After leaving Selina asleep in his bed he had donned the bat suit and held a vigilant watch over Gotham City Hospital. Hours before he had watched as the Joker had collapsed from a heart attack in the very courtroom he had stormed out of years before when Joe Chill had been murdered.

Doctor Harleen Quinzel had rushed to the Joker's aide and Selina had been absolutely beside herself when the woman had collapsed as well. As much as he had desired to do so, he could not rush in and assess the situation himself. Instead he had endured a police interview and comforted his girlfriend who despaired at not being able to tend to her friend. All the while he had recalled the events of the day, each detail keenly registering in his mind as he analyzed the event.

The Joker's lawyer had been taken into custody under suspicion that he had poisoned the Joker himself. But Bruce's instincts told him that the man was a pawn in the game. He'd kept an eye on David Rubinstein ever since he had been assigned to the Joker's case by the court. Though he was ambitious, the man was fighting for a lost cause and he knew it. Perhaps he had decided that the best recourse had been to go along with the plan of whoever had approached him to kill the Joker. He reasoned that if any of the crime families of Gotham were behind it, then they would have promised Rubinstein that he would be rewarded handsomely for his actions.

"Go out for a run?" Selina's voice asked tiredly as the woman joined him in the shower. At his insistence she had taken sleeping pills the night before, allowing him to go out on his patrol. Undoubtedly she had woken in the morning before he had returned and found him missing.

His return as Batman had been complicated by his relationship with the woman. They spent more nights together than they did alone anymore and that made his career as a vigilante harder to disguise from the woman who already suspected that he was up to more than he was telling.

"_How did you get these terrible scars?"_ She had asked when their relationship had become intimate. He had been evasive, telling her that he had endured a difficult life in the time he had been 'missing'. While not a lie, it was not the entire truth either.

He knew she had her share of secrets as well, not limited to her longtime, close friendship with the woman who had been treating the Joker for the better part of a year. It had been very difficult to prod her for information about Harleen Quinzel and the Joker without arousing her suspicion. He had been working out a way to get Selina to introduce him to Harleen once he learned who she was. He doubted the woman would react well to a late night visit from Batman.

"Yeah," he replied as Selina slid her arms around his waist. He moved further beneath the water falling from the ceiling fixture so she could move beneath it while she began planting soft kisses on his shoulder. A smile spread across his lips and a sigh escaped his lips as her right hand slid down his body.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Sam Moretti rocked absently in his desk chair as he filled out the week's schedule. He ran a hand through his short, graying hair and grabbed his coffee cup and took a long drink. It wasn't his longtime favorite blend with a shot of whiskey as he had decided to cut back on the drink when things had begun to go to hell in his life four years ago. As bad as being extorted by the mob had been, the resolution taken by his protégé had been much worse. The kid had fucked up badly, and left him with more trouble than he'd had to begin with.

Such was the song and dance in the world of love, pizza and the mob.

He'd caught the little bastard nearly two decades before trying to steal from his till while he was kneading dough in the back of his first shop. He'd heard the kid clumsily jacking open the register and come out of the back armed with a shotgun. He swore that the skinny kid had nearly wet himself when he found himself staring wide-eyed at the double barrels.

Instead of turning him over to the cops he'd made the kid mop floors and clean up in his shop in his own version of an 'after-school' program, paying the kid under the table. The kid's dad was a drunk and didn't give a shit what he did so long as he was turning over his cash to him. He'd tried to make an honest man out of him, but it was not to be. Once he learned of Sam's 'association' with the mob, he'd been fascinated and never looked back at the life he could have had.

He'd taught the kid all he knew of his 'trade' while he made him work in his kitchen. The student had excelled and become better than his teacher. For some this would have instilled pride; as for Sam, he hated himself for making Jack Napier into a killer. So he'd taken to the drink while Jack had gone off to work for Falcone.

Sam glanced up when he heard the sounds coming from the back door. He always kept it locked when he was alone. Someone was working on the lock. He took another drink of his coffee and rose from his chair, his back aching. He rubbed his sore lower back with one hand while grabbing the familiar gun with his other. He made his way out of the office to the back door and took aim as the last tumbler in the lock clicked into place. The door opened and a man in a blue uniform entered the kitchen and then stopped in mid stride and regarded Sam with a sideward glance. Sam got a look at the man's face and lowered the gun, shaking his head bemused.

"You little shit." He said laughing as the Joker closed the door and pulled off the policeman's hat and running a hand through his short curls.

"I've, uh, had a hell of a day Sam," Joker smirked as he removed his coat and held up a folder.

Sam gestured toward his office and Joker went inside while Sam poured out another cup of coffee which he sat on the desk beside the younger man who was reading over the file now spread open on the desk. Sam took his seat and watched the other man reading, feeling a spark of happiness at the familiarity. He wasn't about to pepper the man with questions and adulations of 'they said you were dead.' Such sentiments were lost on Joker as a lot of things had been in the years following the death of the woman who had married Jack Napier.

"Some light reading?" Sam asked and took a drink of his coffee. Joker sat back and tapped a page with his forefinger.

"Are you still taking those heart pills?" Joker asked. Sam nodded and Joker nodded with him.

"I've been advised to seek continuing care for my health problems," Joker said sarcastically. "I need to find someone to give me the same meds as they have in here," he said shoving the file toward Sam.

Sam picked it up and regarded the charts from Gotham City Hospital, surprised that Joker would take his medical records with him when he escaped.

"I know a guy," he said and Joker shook his head.

"Any guy isn't good enough. I need someone who isn't going to hand me over to, uh, any Tom, Dick and Harry with a few dollars to throw around," Joker said narrowing his eyes.

"You think I'd screw you over?" Sam said, his tone growing dark and frowning when Joker shrugged flippantly.

"I don't think there are many people out here who have my _best interests_ at heart," he said looking at and then drinking from the cup beside him.

The door to the kitchen from the stairs opened and Joker jumped to his feet, drawing a gun and stepping to the doorway. A man wearing a wrinkled shirt over jeans with a disheveled mop of blonde hair shuffled into the room and stopped short when he saw Joker. Joker frowned and put the gun away as a look of joy spread across the other man's face and he fidgeted with excitement.

"Jack, Jack!" The man cried and dove at Joker, wrapping his arms around Joker who shrank back, enduring the embrace and patting the other man on the back in a placating manner.

"Yeah, yeah, Melvin; what did we say about calling me that?" Joker said pulling free of the other man's embrace. The other man frowned and sunk in his stance and looked at Joker with a hurt expression.

"Joker, don't say Jack, say Joker," Melvin Reipan mused and looked at the other man, clearly desiring affection from the other man as he tried to hug him again. Joker caught his wrists and held them in his hands in front of Melvin.

"Very good, Melvin; remember you don't want to call me that, ever again," Joker nodded until Melvin nodded with him.

Sam sighed inwardly feeling bad for Melvin and his disappointment in his reunion with the only family he had. There had been a time when the two had been close, well, closer. Joker had at least still retained a semblance of interest in his autistic cousin's wellbeing; even if he did so solely to use him for his own purposes.

* * *

Joker sat at the bar of the closed restaurant and rubbed his forehead to ward off the headache he'd had since yesterday. Sam had given him some of his own medication before returning to his office to secure him a doctor who would play along and had enough sense to not cross him. He'd sent Melvin away a few times while he pretended to take a deep interest in his chart, writing on it with a pen.

He was trying to organize his thoughts on paper and having his cousin bother him with inane babbling was not conducive to his endeavor. He'd set Melvin up with Sam years ago to get him out of the crappy group home his folks had sent him off to. Jack had been living in Chicago and couldn't keep an eye out for Melvin there so he'd finagled it so Sam could do so in his stead.

He drew circles on the chart in his inability to focus. Things were strange and he wasn't sure what he was going to do. He'd made plans to get out of Arkham, and get himself here but didn't have anything past that laid out. He needed to regroup and find out who was still on his side. Then he needed to study the board and see what positions the other players were in. He would figure things out from there. He would start with whoever had tried to kill him.

He also had to decide what he was going to do about Harley.

Harley had tried so hard to _save_ him, to _fix_ him. He had no idea why she'd let him go but he was happy that she had.

So beautifully complicated, she was a mess and whole all at once.

He smiled as he clicked the pen closed and panned over the bottles on the shelves behind the bar. His eyes settled on a photograph he had personally flung across the room a few years back. Reprinted and nicely framed was a smiling blonde woman standing behind this very bar, an apron snug around her pregnant belly.

"_What are you doing here?"_ He had asked after he'd stalked to the bar upon seeing her that night long ago.

"_I can't just sit around the apartment for the rest of my life, Jack,"_ Jeannie had replied, a frown marring her delicate features.

Sam had assured him that he would personally look after his wife while she worked there, and he had. The regulars loved Jeannie and she was always tipped well. He remembered how people had reacted when she had died, had been murdered. They had missed her, had felt awful that the poor woman had befallen such a terrible fate. Surely it was her husband's fault, if he'd been there…

Joker's hand was bleeding and shards of glass were stuck in his skin when Sam shouted him back to the here and now. He looked at the shattered frame on the bar and his blood smeared across the wood and the photograph. He looked at Sam blankly and then casually returned to his seat on the other side of the bar.

"Perhaps you should take something and lie down," Sam suggested with a slight tone of anger in his voice. "Melvin!"

Sam and Melvin escorted Joker upstairs to the small sleeping room Melvin occupied. Joker picked out the glass with a pair of tweezers and washed his hand before wrapping it with gauze. He then sat on the lumpy cot and he spied a photograph pinned to the wall of a small blonde girl with hazel eyes, smiling and holding an ice cream cone. He snatched it from the wall and peered at it closely and then regarded Sam with quiet anger when the man returned with a bottle of pills and a glass of water. Sam sighed heavily and handed them over to Joker.

"Yeah, the grandparents came to Gotham a month back looking for Jack," Sam said as Joker took the pills. "Someone went to Chicago asking questions about him and they got it in their heads that he was still here. That's Alice, she likes strawberry."

Joker handed the photograph to Sam and lay down, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the faces of his wife and daughter dancing in his mind. Melvin sat beside him, telling him all about his pet goldfish.  


* * *

A/N: Melvin Reipan is from _Legends of the Dark Knight_.


	20. The Hard Crowd

A/N: Sofia Gigante Falcone is based on the likeness of actress Marisa Tomei. Camilla Ortin is based on the likeness of actress Lily Cole.

* * *

The din of those gathered didn't stop as Sofia made her entrance. The men gathered in the cozy dining room of Jueves Blanca. The maitre d' took the coat she easily shrugged off and she took her seat at the table. She looked at the gathered men with her dark brown eyes and settled her coral painted lips set in a tight smile. Sal Maroni sat across from her and regarded her with a smirk.

"So happy you could join us, Miss Falcone, was Alberto unavailable?" He winked at her and another man chuckled.

The Gotham mob scene had long been a 'boys' only club' and Sofia knew hers was an unwelcome intrusion. She took a drink from her water glass and set a hard stare on Maroni. The man had been the bane of her father's existence for as long as he had ruled over crime in Gotham. The two families had been engaged in a seemingly endless power struggle since she was a child. With her father's incarceration and subsequent incapacitation, Maroni had squeezed on top. Her brothers were incompetent and were no match to Maroni or his sons. With her older brother, Mario's capture at the hands of Batman a month before, the Falcone family seemed to be out of the picture. Sofia wasn't about to have that.

She was her father's favorite. Although not a boy she was more like her father than either of her brothers and her father had lamented the fact. He educated her in the family business and his operations in the hope that should something happen to him, she would be able to guide her idiot brothers. His hopes had not come to fruition.

Sofia had taken it upon herself to join the 'meeting of the minds' this morning upon hearing of it from a reliable source. The session was convened so that they may decide what to do about the Joker upon learning the results of his hearing.

"Alberto is out of town." Sofia stated and glanced at the others, daring them to challenge her presence in Alberto's stead.

"So this 'Riddler' character, what do we know about him?" Tony Zucco asked over his scotch, eying Sofia.

"Nothing," Maroni shrugged. "The cops got a note from him but no prints, nothing on tape. They're working on Rubinstein to cough up some more details. Personally, I don't think the little schmuck had anything to do with it. He was too busy hammering Doctor Quinzel to even notice what was going on with the Joker. If it were me, I know I'd be sitting back and enjoying the show," he said smugly and grinned. Others started laughing and Sofia sat up in her seat.

"So we have another wild card," she said looking unhappy. "Someone who wants to hone in on the Joker's game."

"I say we let him have at the Joker," Johnny Witts chimed in. "Let them fight it out and see what happens."

"And what makes you think they'll keep their little tête-à-tête to themselves?" Lew Moxon interjected. "The Joker very nearly seized control of the mob on his own. What makes you think he won't come back and try to finish what he started while going after this 'Riddler'? He was ever the fucking multi-tasker."

"Perhaps we bring in some outside assistance," Maroni shrugged and caught Sofia's eye. "Bring in the guy who did Carmine's right hand."

"Red Hood was not connected with my father." Sofia bristled.

"Didn't seem to stop the guy from taking out Carmine's enemies, in two separate States no less." Maroni said taking a drink from his glass.

"Red Hood was also never 'presented,'" Lew said looking at Maroni.

"Proof of death or not, the Hood is gone and had been since de Large sailed back across the pond," Maroni said nodding to Sofia. "We could even offer him a package deal."

"The 'Riddler,' Joker and that cute little doctor?" Johnny chuckled.

"Nah, we can take care of the little doctor ourselves," Maroni snorted.

* * *

"Wake up, gorgeous!" Sam's voice jolted Joker back to the living world.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, glancing at the window to see the sun was still up. Sam set a plastic bag on the bed beside him and Joker began rifling through its contents. A change of clothes, shoes, pre-paid cell and a couple pill bottles spilled onto the bed. Joker opened the phone and plugged the charger into the wall outlet.

"Got you a ride too," Sam jiggled the single key on a plastic key ring from a Gotham gift shop.

"Gee, Sam, this is the best Christmas ever," Joker grumbled as he pulled the tags off his new clothes. Sam chuckled and glanced at the door.

"Yeah, I'd say that 'cept I just really want to get your ass outta my fine establishment," Sam replied. Joker laughed.

"How goes the manhunt?" Joker asked rubbing his eyes again and standing.

"They don't have a clue, nobody's been here but again nobody comes here looking for you," Sam shrugged.

"Except for my ex in-laws," Joker replied picking up the photograph of his daughter. "Wanna tell me about that?"

"They said someone was looking for you up in Chicago," Sam shrugged. "I think they wanted you to come back with them, you know, since they have no idea that you are the Joker now." Joker mused.

"What did Harley say to them?" He asked.

"Who's Harley?" Sam frowned. "No they said some guy, a detective came around asking questions about you. He said he was looking into the 'cold case' of your disappearance and," he lowered his head, "Jeannie." Joker began chewing the inside of his scars.

"They give you a name?" He asked licking his lips.

"They left his business card, same guy came around here a time or two," Sam shrugged. Joker wheeled on him.

"You just said nobody comes here looking for me!" Joker narrowed his eyes and took a step toward him. Sam put up his hands defensively.

"Nobody comes here looking for the Joker. Jeannie worked here; the guy was looking for Jack!" Sam shouted looking annoyed.

"And his name is?" Joker prodded.

"Edward Nashton," Sam said pulling a card from his shirt pocket and handing it to Joker. He turned and headed back downstairs leaving Joker alone to dress and get his things together. He grabbed one of Melvin's jackets and tucked the phone, pills, gun and Nashton's card into the pockets. He took one last look at his daughter's photo before setting it on the table. He grabbed the key and bounded down the stairs, eager to get back out into Gotham.

* * *

"They want to kill Harley?" Selina balked in disbelief at the woman who stood woodenly at her window. Sofia turned to look at her and nodded, her face not conveying any emotion.

"She's ruffled a lot of feathers, asked too many people the wrong kinds of questions. She can connect the Joker to the mob," Sofia replied. Selina shook her head and bit her lower lip.

"A LOT of people can connect the Joker to the mob," Selina said.

"She also has information that they would rather she not have about other mob dealings from working at Arkham," Sofia shrugged. "I figured I would do you a favor and give you a heads up."

"You're telling me that with the Joker loose they are worried about what Harley's patients may or may not have told her?" Selina asked in disbelief.

"There are also your own connections to the Joker," Sofia said with a hard glare. Selina blew out a held breath and threw her hands in the air.

"The Joker used my guys, killed my guys in that robbery. I was in no way involved," Selina bit back.

"How did he get in touch with them?" Sofia asked.

"We're all criminals here, Sofia, everybody can find someone who can help them with a job," Selina sat down in a huff and wiped a stray tear away. "Don't even think that I could ever work with that lunatic bastard after what he did to Paulo."

Sofia nodded, satisfied and patted Selina on the shoulder.

"Look after your friend, would you?" Sofia said softly in parting, leaving Selina to compose herself in her room of regrets.

* * *

"Miss Quinzel, I have a delivery for you," a candy striper said cheerfully setting a vase with red roses in it on her rolling tray table. Harleen frowned and signed for the delivery and then turned the vase around to find a small card tucked within the flowers. A simple message was scrawled inside.

"_**Feel Better Soon – J"**_

Harleen's eyes went wide and she looked around before looking for some place to hide the card when Judith entered the room. She whistled when she saw the flowers and set the take-out bag containing their dinner beside them. She pulled a stem from the arrangement and smelled the petals.

"_Who_ sent _you_ flowers, Harley?" She smiled touching the smooth stem. "They even removed the thorns, how sweet," she said looking at Harleen.

Harleen sank back against her pillow and squeezed the card in her hand, forcing a smile. Judith's smile waned and she tilted her head, looking at Harleen with a puzzled frown. As realization at her sister's behavior sank in, Judith's blue eyes widened such that they could have popped out. Her mouth opened and closed a few times and she looked at the rose in her hand and dropped it, moving away.

"No," she whispered. Harleen averted her gaze and Judith stood frozen and wild-eyed. "How do you know?"

Reluctantly, Harleen handed the card over to her sister who snatched it from her fingers and frowned incredulously as she read it over. She looked toward the door and stepped closer to her sister, waving the card at her.

"The guy has balls, I'll give him that! But why would he send this?" Judith chewed her bottom lip as she studied Harleen's face. "It doesn't even have any sentiment to it."

"He said to get better," Harleen said reaching for the card her sister pulled out of her reach.

"It says, 'feel better soon,' like an order, not a hospitable greeting." Judith shook her head again. "What is going on here, Harley? Were you actually fucking him?"

"No!" Harleen cried out and then lowered her voice. "No, I don't know why he sent those. I don't know why he'd bother. I don't know anything about him, oy vey!" Harleen covered her face with her hands, taking steadying breaths.

Judith came to her side and smoothed her hair and then leaned over to hug her. Harleen grabbed onto her sister and they held each other closely. Whatever the Joker's game was, he wasn't leaving her out of it.

* * *

Joker stuffed the stolen florist deliveryman's jacket into the backseat and sat back in the driver's seat and lit a cigarette. He sat for a few minutes, monitoring the traffic around the hospital to see if anyone had noticed his presence. The Police presence had greatly dissipated.

He had returned to his old place to find it untouched. The lonely space was cold from the lack of heat as he hadn't been around to turn it on, or pay the utility bills. The water ran but the lights were out. The rent had been paid up through a bank account that Joker had set up to send automatic payments. He'd sat on his bed and ruminated over whether to keep the place or to send someone in to get the power back on. He decided on keeping it, as it was obvious that no one had discovered his residence.

So he had thrown some things into a bag and left once again to find a place to spend the night that was warmer and had some, company. He'd spent too many nights alone in Arkham and was determined to end his dry spell.

On nights like these in Arkham his thoughts had turned to the lovely blonde they paid to talk to him. The whore Arkham offered him; he snickered as he remembered the look on Doctor Arkham's face when he'd called Harley that. He'd paid a lot of women for their company since becoming the Joker but was not in the mood for that anymore.

Somewhere in the planning phase of his 'great crime spree' he'd crossed the line with one of his clowns. Mime. She had caught him at exactly the right moment, one night when he'd been drinking and thinking about his wife. The clowns had finished unloading the shipment of ammonium nitrate they had stolen and she had hung around when they had all left. He was well into a fifth of Vodka when she had come to him. Sweet and vulnerable, quiet and unquestioning; her eyes were the same shade as Jeannie's.

Joker had unabashedly gone home with her much like he had with many other partners before he met his wife. With prostitutes, he took care of the matter on the spot not desiring to have any stragglers follow him home. Something about Camilla Ortin was different though. He'd picked her out of the Gotham's criminal grab bag after being amused by her criminal nature.

Camilla had been an actual mime and her troupe had lost its funding and she her mind. She lashed out at other art forms which incorporated sound; it was all noise to her. Joker had come across her after she had been about, stealing clappers from church bells.

He'd liked her alright, but she wasn't quite right. She almost never spoke and most people thought she was actually mute. Joker could occasionally coax sounds and speech out of her. Her quietness hadn't bothered him in the beginning as he could talk enough for the two of them. But it had gotten on his nerves in no time. She was clingy and though the sex was good, it was also somewhat creepy when his partner never made a sound.

He ended up sending her for a ride on the ferries when he'd sent her to place the detonators on them. She had inevitably been trapped on the civilian ferry. He'd asked his lawyer for names of his men who were arrested, hers was not among them.

Joker tossed his cigarette out the window and pulled out of the hospital lot. Harley wouldn't be home tonight. He'd found the situation somewhat regrettable as he wanted to talk to her. Imagine that! She'd spent months trying to pry information from him like a rag doll from a Pitt Bull, and the first time he wanted to talk to her, he couldn't.

Life was funny like that.

He made his way across town to Camilla's last known address, asking himself why he was going there. Falling back into old habits was not somewhere he particularly wanted to go. But it was dead into October and the wind was up from the harbor and her lights were on.

After knocking twice, the lithe woman with short blue hair falling around her round face was looking up at him. Her small lips were pursed and a slight frown was set above her blue eyes. She took his hand and led him inside before closing the door and locking it behind him.

"I…saw you yesterday," she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

Joker cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forcefully, closing his eyes. She was the only woman who had kissed him since the scars. Her arms were around his neck, her fingers in his hair as they kissed each other hungrily. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hoisted her up, her legs wrapped around his waist as she gasped. He carried her to her bedroom and tossed her onto the bed, her letting out a surprised bit of a laugh.

He smiled at the sound and climbed on top of her, unbuttoning her shirt. They easily undressed and indulged themselves with the other's body, lips and hands. Gentle strokes and biting nails accompanied sounds of pleasure that Joker hadn't realized he'd missed.

* * *

A/N: Camilla Ortin first appeared in "Batman #412: Enemy Mime." Sofia Gigante Falcone first appeared in "Batman: The Long Halloween #6."


	21. Dust Out The Demons Inside

"_He just wasn't the man I thought he was."_

This phrase had become the refrain of her story of lost love for nearly two years. When pressed for details she only said that the memories were too painful, her wounds had not yet healed.

The feeling of being whole is something we often look to others to give us. We tell them things like 'You are my better half' or 'I was nothing without you.' This may sound good or even noble, but what happens when you lose that person? What do you do now to be whole? Were you whole in the first place?

It would appear that you were just in an illusion of what whole really is.

He had broken her heart.

He had violated her trust.

He had shaken the foundation of everything she believed in professionally.

He had loved every minute of it.

They say that you should trust those little signs that your brain and body gives you to alert you that something isn't quite right. Danger is close to you and you need either to fight or flee.

She had done neither. She had ignored her instincts and allowed him into her life. Not just allowed, pulled him in even though he had protested.

Well, he had at first.

When it came down to it, one of the most basic needs people have is to find a mate. He had been an extremely unlikely match, or so it had seemed.

Narcissistic and callous, he naturally drove people away from him and faded into the background and had become an observer, a recluse. And in spite of this, he had been the best of them.

* * *

Doctor Arkham sat across the conference table from Commissioner Gordon and Renee Montoya. Montoya was shuffling paperwork whilst Arkham looked over a couple of files and Gordon scratched a few notes in the margins of a saturated legal-ruled sheet.

The three of them looked up as Joan Leland entered the room and closed the door discretely behind her.

"Good morning, Joan," the elder man's voice greeted her as she took her seat. She saw Doctor Arkham's harried expression as he pushed a couple of files toward her.

"Good morning, Doctor Arkham," she said glancing at the files. She read the name on the top and looked up at her boss at a loss for words. He smiled grimly.

"Jonathan Crane is Doctor Keatons' patient," she said while holding up the file.

"And the Joker is Doctor Quinzel's patient, but she isn't available," he paused. "I have promised Commissioner Gordon full cooperation from our institution. You are the head of psychiatric medicine, Joan, and I expect you to act in full capacity of your position."

Joan Leland pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. Her heart beat furiously in her chest. She wanted to flee.

"As you know, the Joker has escaped and has had a full day's head start on law enforcement. We need to interview Crane and get as many details from him about the Joker and their association as possible," Arkham said.

"I don't see how Crane could have been involved in this incidence," she said softly. "The two inmates haven't even been in contact with one another for months."

"Victor Zsasz was caught on the courtroom tape and his fingerprints were all over the glass and pitcher from which the Joker was poisoned," Gordon said tapping his pen on paper. "Mr. Zsasz was also given prolonged treatment at Arkham under the care of Jonathan Crane when he was found to be incompetent to stand trial."

"So," Joan paused for a beat, "it is your summation that Jonathan Crane orchestrated this attempted assassination when he has had no contact with any of the parties involved in months? I'll give you that he has proven to be a criminal mastermind, but that is quite a stretch."

"Why do you say that, Doctor Leland?" Montoya asked, eyeing her warily. Joan attempted to smile but faltered.

"This isn't his modus operandi. He doesn't give clues and he wouldn't use a method that would result in death so quickly. He likes to watch, to study his victim's responses to his methodology. He likes to see the fear." Joan said and her shoulders sagged slightly.

Joan sat the files side by side and looked between them, feeling powerless and already exhausted. She glanced up at Arkham like a little girl asking her father to not make her do a chore. And a terrible chore it was.

"With all due respect, Doctor Arkham, I do not believe it would be appropriate for me to interview him. Perhaps you should have Detective Montoya or Commissioner Gordon go in to extract whatever information they may need. But it is my job to protect these inmates, these patients, to help them make progress, to…" Joan spoke but Arkham cut her off.

"I hired _you_, Joan! I hired you because you are a great psychiatrist and more than capable of handling this position. Let alone this interview. You need to set aside your feelings and focus on the task at hand," he said slamming his fist on the table. Joan started at his action.

She took in the faces at the table and drew a calming breath.

"_He_ asked for this," she said. She caught Arkham's and Gordon's gaze in succession.

"I'll have you know that I will not allow you to set me up for public humiliation like you did with Harleen. I will give no testimony in court and I want my name removed from any witness statements," she said and then set her eyes upon Gordon. "I have been completely cooperative with all of these investigations and I have had to make a great deal of personal sacrifice in order to do so. But you are dancing a fine line of ethics here, Commissioner, and I will not allow mine to be compromised."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some things to review before I interview Jonathan Crane. I assume you'll have him ready when I am?" She arched a brow toward Arkham who nodded silently as the other three left Joan to herself.

* * *

Joan had raced from her office at Arkham to the holding area at MCU the night they had caught him. His expressions changed from angry glares to strange smiles in an instant and he was in the midst of a bizarre tirade when she arrived.

"I am the master of fear! The lord of despair! Cower before me and witness terror! Worship me, you fools! Worship me! Scream hosannas of anguish to me, Scarecrow the all-terrible God of Fear!"

He howled in laughter and then caught sight of her. His hair was greasy and plastered against his head. He was handcuffed and still wore a suit and dress shoes. She looked aside and saw the officers arranging items that they had taken from him on a table.

"Glad you could make it, Doctor Leland," Lieutenant Gordon greeted her and shook her hand. Jonathan was staring at her, his blue eyes wild.

"I'm going to approach the cell," she said and stepped toward it confidently. She stopped just outside of an arms reach and studied him.

He was a mess. He stood and met her on the other side and smirked at her.

"I suppose you will be evaluating me?" He asked; that strange look still in his eyes. One that wasn't altogether unfamiliar to her. She took him in, the ratty suit, the poor hygiene, the air of cockiness in how he held himself.

From what they had discovered since Fear Night, her presence was a mere formality. His corruption and sadistic experimentation had long since written him a ticket to Arkham.

"Do you have an obolus for the ferryman?" Joan asked quietly.

"Do you still make hominy the way I like it?" He replied.

* * *

It had been at a conference they had attended when she caught the glimpse of something else beneath the cold façade, the mask he wore for the world. After a long day of seminars during which he had given a lecture on his specialty in psychopharmacology and its application in the treatment of phobias, she had found herself standing beside him in an elevator. He didn't make a move to stop the doors from closing even as she called out as she rushed toward it. She shoved her folded blazer between the sliding doors and they had immediately reopened.

He had regarded her with his cool gaze from behind his rectangular lenses and then stared ahead at the control panel as she pushed the button for her floor. She had turned to him, frowning and smoothed her blazer over her arm.

"I suppose you didn't hear me," she said as she moved beside him, looking at the panel as well.

"I suppose not," he replied crisply.

They rode the elevator in silence, two of the five psychiatrists from Gotham present at the conference. They knew each other professionally but not beyond that. The fact that he chose to distance himself from her in quiet company was irritating. The elevator stopped at her floor and she stepped out.

"Goodnight Doctor Crane," she said turning slightly toward him as she exited.

"Goodnight Doctor Leland," he spoke in an even tone as the doors closed again. She looked at the closed doors for a moment and then shook her head and retreated to her room.

She showered and contemplated retiring for the evening. She watched the evening news as she dried her hair and then decided she was not about to shut herself up in her room. There were a few hundred attendees at the conference and she was not one to be unsocial.

She dried and brushed out her black hair, re-applied her make-up and slipped on a red cocktail dress. After pulling on a pair of black heels, she set out to join the party downstairs.

Once she had arrived in the lobby, the concierge directed her to a number of restaurants and bars the other attendees had headed off to. She decided to go to the hotel lounge for a quick bite and a drink to get started. She entered the low-lit room and scanned it for familiar faces from the day.

To her surprise, she found Jonathan Crane sitting alone at a table in the corner. He still wore the suit he had been all day. His head was down and he was turning a glass around on the table and casting an occasional casual glance. She smoothed her dress and headed directly to his table.

"Is this seat taken?" She asked, smiling politely. He looked at her and seemed to consider his response before giving it.

"No," he said looking at her cautiously, as if she were setting a trap.

She took a seat beside him and called over the waiter and ordered herself an appetizer and drink as well as another for him despite his quiet protest.

"So, you come here often?" She joked and sipped her martini.

A few more drinks and he relaxed and almost seemed like he was a different person. He smiled at her and she caught a gleam in his blue eyes she found hypnotic. Laughing and talking and more drinks passed between them. The next ride in the elevator was a lot cozier. They both got off on her floor and he walked her to her room. She leaned against the door jamb and smiled at him. He suddenly looked at his feet and swallowed, looking a bit uncomfortable.

"It was nice talking with you, Jonathan," she said touching his arm gently. His gaze met hers and his unease evaporated.

She didn't remember who made the first move, and it ultimately didn't matter. His kiss was tentative and she made hers inviting. She drew him inside her room wordlessly, sparing him any embarrassment in admitting that he wasn't the kind of guy who did this very often.

He'd been clumsy but that had been overshadowed by his eagerness. Once they were alone, he was seemingly uninhibited. His white skin on her ebony flesh, his hands and mouth explored her in the most intimate ways. And that gleam never left his eyes as he took in her every move, gasp and cry.

He had gone before she had awakened in the morning. She was only mildly surprised by that as they both had their own rooms to prepare themselves for the days' events.

When she met him in the conference room as he poured his coffee, he regarded her with the same coldness and distance typical of his character. She could only stand and watch him walk away as if the night before had never mattered.

* * *

"I don't know what you were thinking," Joan said trying to keep and even tone as she started the car. Jonathan sat back casually and seemed to be ignoring her.

"It was only a demonstration," he said detachedly. She felt something in her neck pop as she whipped her head to face him.

"A demonstration! You shot one of your students!" She cried, hitting the steering wheel and sounding the horn.

"It was an accident, a ricochet," he shrugged. "And it drove the point home to them, a lesson they won't forget soon," he smirked. Joan stared at him open-mouthed for a few moments before finally pulling out of the police station's parking garage.

"Well, this is the _last_ time I post bail for you and your little demonstrations!" She hissed and glared at him.

Neither of them were surprised when Jonathan was called before the University board the next day and then fired. He had been angry, but not surprised. He had already been hired as head of psychiatry at Arkham Asylum, but had wished to retain part-time status at Gotham University.

"They'll see the error of their ways," Jonathan seethed while Joan stood over the stove, stirring hominy in a pan.

"That sounds an awful lot like a threat, Jonathan," Joan said looking at him worriedly. He shook his head.

"The position at Arkham is more suited to your talents and expertise anyway," she said looking back at the pan and scraping the spatula across the bottom.

He ruminated over dinner as they ate in silence. Joan was upset for him, but still startled by the actions which had led to his termination at Gotham University. Her family was planning on visiting Gotham in a couple of weeks and she was still on the fence of whether to introduce him to them.

They had been seeing one another for a year and a half. She talked to her mother about her boyfriend but hadn't told her everything about him. He had points for being educated, a doctor, and a Southerner. Joan's own family had moved to Detroit from Georgia when her grandmother was a little girl.

She hadn't told them he was white.

It was ridiculous that in this modern age they were still placed under racial scrutiny. No matter what other qualities he had, they would see him as a 'white boy.' She'd heard enough of it already from her friends.

Jonathan left the table without a word and closed himself up in her office. Sometimes it was as if two different men resided within Jonathan. He could be moody and distant, but there was another side to him that came out when the time was right. _That_ side joined her later in the bathroom while she toweled off and led her to the bed.

* * *

Joan wound the spaghetti around her fork before savoring its taste. She dipped a piece of garlic bread into the sauce and bit into it and then realized he hadn't been paying attention. He was eyeing the display of his cell phone from behind his rectangular lenses.

"Jonathan?" Joan asked while she discretely dabbed her lips with her napkin. His blue eyes pierced her and she felt a tingling on the back of her neck.

"It would appear that Miss Dawes requires my presence at Arkham," he said, irritated.

"What does she need now? Didn't you tell her we were leaving?" Joan asked frowning.

Rachel Dawes had been picking away at Jonathan for months as if she were strumming an exposed nerve. The woman had seemingly made it her personal mission to attack Jonathan's decisions on every case he took and had been digging into practices at Arkham. What the woman hoped to uncover was beyond Joan, still she had her own little barb in her side.

"Perhaps I could have been of assistance in running interference with Dawes, had I been appointed to that position," she smirked. He regarded her coldly.

"I thought you had gotten over that," he said, "perhaps I didn't realize the depth of your pettiness." Joan took a deep breath and stared holes into her significant other. He shook his head and set the phone down on the table.

"You are just as emotional and irrational as the rest of them," he said. Joan looked away and bit the inside of her lower lip.

"I already explained my decision to you regarding the position at Arkham. I was sure you understood how _unprofessional_ it would be to have you working beneath me," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "Let alone the cries of foul play from the other candidates when the nature of our relationship came to light."

"You didn't have to be an asshole about it," she said remembering how she had received a rejection letter in the mail from him instead of being told face to face. But that was how Jonathan Crane did things.

"And you didn't have to make a scene in my office, more to the point why hiring you would have been a mistake," he said calmly and then took drink of his wine.

Joan looked at her watch as Jonathan waved over the waiter. Their flight was due to leave in three hours.

"Do you want me to swing you by Arkham on our way to the airport?" She said motioning toward her watch. She watched his expression changing as he seemed to be thinking out the scenario.

"No, you go ahead, I'll take a cab," he said as he came to her side and pulled her coat from the back of her chair and held it open for her.

She felt uneasy but didn't know why. She slid on her coat with his assistance and grabbed her purse before they headed to the door where Jonathan asked the host to call a cab.

"What if you miss the flight?" She asked, looking at him. He tilted his head and touched her hand.

"I'll catch the next one, of course," he said with a wry grin. Joan blinked and hesitated as he tried to steer her outside.

"Perhaps I should come with you," she said and noted how he narrowed his eyes.

"It is unlikely that this business should take very long, but I won't let Miss Dawes and her issues hold us both up. Worst case scenario," he leaned close and his breath tickled her ear, "you'll have a little extra time to get ready for me."

Joan blushed and Jonathan led her to her car and kissed her discretely.

It was the last time she ever saw him.

* * *

Joan walked into the therapy room with a file, a notepad and a pen. She glanced at the mirror on the wall, knowing that they would be watching her question Crane. She took a seat across from him and slid the chair up to the table, establishing an authoritative posture.

He sat back in his seat casually and regarded her curiously. He wore his rectangular framed glasses and a red Arkham jumpsuit. He was unrestrained. His hair was clean, but unruly and his face was clean of stubble.

Nothing happened at first, like they were playing the 'quiet game.' Breaking the ice would not be easy to do since she had outright refused to treat him since his institutionalization. And in the time he'd spent there he hadn't had many kind words for her.

"It appears your friend has left you high and dry," she began and he tilted his head. "The Joker? Whatever plans you two made together you can forget them because he's out now." He shook his head.

"Really, I heard he was poisoned," he said as if he were talking to a child.

"He was. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" She asked and he looked at the mirror and then back at her.

"Why would I?" He shrugged.

"It was one of your former patients that did it," she replied. He snorted and looked at the mirror again.

"I wouldn't even know where to begin picking apart the absurdity of your accusations. I've been in here for a year and a half. I've talked to the Joker, but it's not as if I've had any interaction with him since he killed Petersen. Even then, I have no cause to kill him," he said to the glass and then looked back at her. "Is that sufficient?"

"While you were out, you continued your experiments. You employed former Arkham inmates, such as Mr. Zsasz who then tried to kill the Joker," she replied.

"The people who worked for me then went on to follow the Joker," he nodded.

"Were you two working together even then?" She asked. Crane smirked. Joan closed her pen and sat forward.

"I know what you think about me, Jonathan. I hear the things you say about me. I would say that you've had it pretty good here, would you?" She raised her brows. He shrugged.

"All of your privileges, your books, your periodicals, I can make them go away like that!" She said snapping her fingers. "I can make things very uncomfortable for you and I don't believe there would be a soul who would protest it."

"You wouldn't," he smirked, "you don't have what it takes to do bad things to people."

"Not people, _just you, Jonathan_," she said drawing out the words. "Am I getting the quotation right? 'Is it Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned?'"

Crane considered her words for a few minutes before looking back at her. When he did, there was something different in his eyes.

"What kind of card did he say you were?" He asked.

"What?" She frowned.

"The Joker, he told me you met with him for a session or two. He says everyone has a card, what did he say yours was?" He replied. Joan tapped her pen on the paper.

"The Queen of Clubs," she said looking up at him. He smiled slightly. "Does that mean something to you?" He shook his head.

"I met the Joker on a handful of occasions before I was caught. He was recruiting help and I pointed him in the way of some former patients," He said.

"But not Waylon Jennings," Joan replied and Crane looked at her smugly.

"No, Waylon was a special case," he said eyes clouded with memory. "Besides, the Joker and I have very different philosophies. We could work toward a common goal, but in the big picture I don't see there being a successful partnership." He looked at her again.

"What about your time at Arkham?" She asked. He shrugged.

"We played Chess, we talked about Rachel Dawes and the Bat-man," he replied. "I believe everything was recorded as I am sure this is now. We knew that and neither one of us wanted to share our ideas."

"Who won?" She asked as she wrote 'Chess' on the paper. Crane made a sour expression.

"The Joker, every damn time," he said flatly. "You people are wasting your time with me; you're not going to find the answers you need here."

Joan looked at her notes and flipped through the file before closing it again and fixing a quizzical look on Crane.

"Tell me about what happened when Petersen died," she said fixing her brown eyes on his. Crane shook his head.

"Samuel Petersen would have made for an excellent test subject. I had speculated on how he would respond and then one day the Joker made a deal with me," he said.

"Oh?" Joan replied.

"He said that if I could capture his queen, then he would tell me how he got his scars. We began play and Petersen sat down and began babbling on about Doctor Quinzel but the Joker was focused on the game. He scanned the board as if he was walking amongst the pieces and I made a move which put me one move from his queen," Crane said.

"Then he picked up his queen and tapped the piece on the board three times and then he turned on Petersen. He had his hand in the man's mouth before he had time to react. And then he was on top of him, covering his mouth with one hand while squeezing his throat with the other. Petersen was dead by the time the guards finally got the Joker off of him," Crane looked at his hands.

"He had shoved the queen piece into Petersen's larynx, asphyxiating him. He looked at me as the guards were restraining him and said, 'the queens have the real power.'" Crane looked up. "So I lost that game as well."

Joan tapped her pen again and looked at the mirror and then back at Crane. She opened the file and removed a photograph which she passed to him. He took it in his hands and looked the image over very carefully.

"Riddle me this," he read the words from the image. His eyes met hers.

"This was a test for Commissioner Gordon. He wanted to see if Gordon could save the Joker, or if he would try." Crane replied.

"You say he…" Joan began.

"Of course _He_. There has been someone running around the criminal ranks of Gotham, more of a trickster or a pain in the ass. The first time I worked with the Joker we came across a puzzle attached to a bomb. There was a clue left behind, worded like this," he pointed at the image.

"I guess you got out of it," Joan replied. Crane nodded.

"Not with what we'd come for though. That was the price of escape. Only we couldn't just chalk it up to another nutcase vigilante. I did some asking around, they call the guy Eddie Nigma," Crane chuckled.

"E. Nigma, cute," Joan looked at him.

"Did you get what you wanted?" Crane asked. Joan mused.

"Did you?" She replied. "I will not remove any of your privileges." His gaze didn't waver when she stood. She swallowed and picked up the file, pad and pen.

"I will review your case periodically," she said meeting his eyes before leaving the room.

* * *

A/N: The Scarecrows' quote upon his capture is from the "Batman The Animated Series" episode _Harley's Holiday_.

The Heaven and Hell's fury quote is from William Congreve's _The Mourning Bride_


	22. Where Did You Sleep Last Night

A/N: Dr. Ruth Adams is based on the likeness of actress Maura Tierney.

**

* * *

**

Joker had set down the chess board. Across from him sat Jonathan Crane who stared at him with his unnaturally colored eyes. The Bible says that the eyes are the windows to the soul. If that were true then the Scarecrow was either pure of heart or devoid of that which is supposed to make people human. An educated man, he was certain that Crane was sizing him up as well. But Joker didn't hide the void within and even emphasized it with black paint to get his point across. People had as hard a time looking him in the eyes as they did looking at his scars.

Crane did not exhibit any discomfort as he picked up his pieces and placed them in perfect order. He was fastidious; he liked things in their order even if it only made sense to him. Although Joker enjoyed chaos and entropy in the world, the universe, he had his own sense of order and control. He never could have accomplished all he had without it. But that didn't mean he couldn't tell tales.

Joker watched Ruth Adams cross the room, her eyes on them as she made the trip. Their appointed babysitter and queen white coat with her minions of orderlies who would attack on her command. She was average at best with short brown hair that seemed beyond her control. Not a queen or even a princess, just another self-important shrink who chose this line of work to fix her own problems under the guise of helping others. The big lie of social science, help me to help you to help me. They were damaged people hiding behind credentials giving them the authority to change the way other people thought either through talk or chemistry. Neither of which they fully understood.

Jonathan Crane had been king of the hill. He had held power and control over all of the white coats, orderlies, guards and most importantly the patients. His experiments and so-called therapy had enabled Joker to manipulate the escapees to do his bidding. His reputation as an agent of chaos had remained intact because anyone who followed the Joker _had_ to be crazy.

Jonathan Crane was crazy. It hadn't taken Joker long to size up the man he'd met in the dead of night wearing a burlap sack on his head while he recited a nursery rhyme at a startled homeless man and sprayed him in the face with his fear toxin. Then he'd watched the man, crouching over him and taking in the other man's terror like a breath of air.

Crane was not your garden variety madman. It had taken a lifetime to create this level of self-control and insanity. It was later that Joker had taken note of his duality as well. The Jonathan Crane in the dead of night on the outside who called himself 'Scarecrow' was different from the one who sat across from him at the table, making what he thought were well thought out moves in their game.

The first time he had seen it was when he had been given rec room privileges and had come across Crane playing a game of chess with himself. His game play had been shrugged off by the orderlies who said Crane was so pretentious that he saw only himself as a formidable opponent. Joker had pulled up a seat and watched Crane who was deeply focused on the game. White was clearly beating black. What Joker didn't understand was why Crane played the game with two different strategies, one clearly inferior to the other. His expression changing as the game went on and his dissatisfaction with black becoming more evident until white had won. Joker called winner.

And so it had gone on, the two men played and made casual conversation about those things most important to them, Batman being chief among them. Crane's apparent jealousy that Joker had killed Rachel Dawes had amused him. A lot about Crane amused him, or at least held his interest long enough that he chose not to kill him. On the outside they had crossed paths and in one instance had found a common rival in one Eddie Nigma. As much as Joker disliked competition from other so-called criminal masterminds, he didn't mind keeping around cannon fodder to distract Batman from his activities long enough so that he could complete his plans.

All that he needed was something he could hold over Crane's head to keep him in line. He had sought this during their social time and from listening to the asylum gossip. He hadn't found anything concrete but he had learned the secrets behind Scarecrow's fear night.

Once upon a time, a man named Jack Napier had been in love with his wife, Jeannie. Their relationship had been far from perfect but Jack was determined to make it work because he didn't have anything else to show for in life. He had lots of secrets and a woman who had abandoned her mission to peer any deeper below his surface than she already had. She was blissfully ignorant and pretended that what she already knew was somehow a mistake, or a bad dream. Then one day he had told his boss that he was quitting in so many words, and his boss had not liked that one bit. So one day he had sent a man to kill Jack and his blushing bride.

Then one night, a man with a scarred face and a vendetta had slipped out of his cell and found that foolish, arrogant bastard in another cell shivering in his sleep. It was from fear, the scarred man knew. A man called the Scarecrow had poisoned him and all Arkham's horses and all of Arkham's men were loose in the streets and it was a good week before he had been administered an antidote. Unfortunately by that time the man was a shell of his former self and only able to express himself the way a child does.

The way Jack Napier's daughter would have talked to him by now if he and his wife had lived, if Carmine Falcone hadn't had them killed.

The scarred man had crept upon the bed and woken Carmine Falcone who had cried and wet himself in response. The last face he ever thought he would see again hovered over him as he babbled while tears fell from his eyes. The scarred man wanted to relish this moment, but the man's broken comprehension and lack of focus made the experience unfulfilling. _That_ was Crane's fault.

But all was not lost as he managed to get a fragment of worth from the man's broken lucidity. A name was whispered to him like a curse in the dark. And the scarred man had left the pathetic old man to his repose.

The name danced in Joker's mind as he sat across from Crane, waiting for the moment it would roll from his tongue. But it could wait while Joker worked out the solution to Crane's puzzle. He wasn't a jigsaw, more like a puzzle box in which removing one piece could actually lock another into place. It entertained him.

These thoughts crossed Joker's mind while he sat absently watching a television, wearing only pants and an unbuttoned shirt. Laying back against the cushion as the cocaine took effect. He saw the blonde on the television and knew she would disapprove. He smiled as he could picture her standing before him, her hands planted firmly on her hips lecturing him about his evil ways. He knew the woman in the other room would hate her. She probably already did.

He saw a man in a green suit with a cane escorting Harley inside the courthouse, his face visible only momentarily. Joker sat forward and rubbed his eyes and then nose. The same man had acknowledged him from the back of the courtroom.

A raise and tilt of his cane and the game was on.

Once upon a time, Joker had stood behind Scarecrow as he had illuminated a message on a wall with his flashlight.

**Riddle Me This**

"_The police said that he sent a message, a death threat in the form of a question. Like a riddle."_ Harley had told him just the morning before while she had set him free.

Joker stood and buttoned his shirt then began gathering his things. He had a lot of work ahead of him.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews and continued readership!


	23. Have You Ever Been Afraid

Joan Leland closed the door of her office and dropped the patient files that her assistant had pulled for her onto her desk. She slipped off her shoes and made her way over to the chocolate chaise lounge and picked up the pillow before lying upon it. She squeezed the pillow to her chest and closed her eyes and attempted to will the muscle tension in her neck away.

The chair was well broken in since she had insisted that Jonathan purchase it years before. He'd slept on it on nights he'd stayed at the asylum and on more than one occasion, they had made love there after hours when he was in a 'special' mood.

Joan covered her face with the pillow, her chest aching to release a scream.

It had still smelled like him for a while. Those early days after his incarceration had been very difficult for her. He was there, only a few floors away and she had so many things she wanted to ask him. She wanted to see him, to touch his face again, to kiss him, to punch him in the mouth.

But to do so would be inappropriate and could even cost her the position she had been appointed to. She had taken his job, his office, even his belongings, when it had become clear that he would not return to his home.

Arkham had arranged bi-weekly sessions with her once Jonathan had been admitted. She had talked about her thoughts and feelings. He had given her medication to help ease her anxiety and advice. He'd told her to talk to Jonathan. He had even suggested that they have sessions together with him. Joan had said she would take it under advisement, and had never brought it up again.

On a few rare occasions she would add overtime hours to the guards to keep them quiet while she observed Jonathan while he slept, and had entered his cell when he was away for meals, exercise or therapy. But she had never crossed that fine line between professional and inappropriate behavior.

She still had some of his things at her home, what the police had not taken in their investigation. The rest of his belongings were in a storage locker somewhere to which she had the key since he had no family. It hadn't been until he had left that she realized just how solitary a life he had led.

She had so many questions for him, difficult questions.

Rachel Dawes had paged her the night she and Jonathan were leaving for a trip to Georgia. She had appealed to him for months to go and he had been vehemently opposed to the idea. And then one night he had come home very late, an air of uneasiness about him she had never felt before or since and he had told her he would go.

Then the nightmares had started. She would wake in the dead of night in a state of panic on a few occasions and he had been there, shushing her, asking her what she had dreamt, how she felt. He'd given her comfort and then the dreams had abated.

On that terrible night in the Narrows, Joan had left the airport at Rachel Dawes' insistence that she come to Arkham and evaluate Carmine Falcone. She knew Jonathan would already be there and the meeting would turn ugly when both she and Jonathan missed their flight due to Dawes' unreasonable demands. When she had arrived, the police were everywhere and the bridges to the Narrows had been raised. She had been arguing with an officer when the toxin was released, blowing manhole covers ten feet into the air. Mass panic had ensued, but she had somehow been unaffected.

She had spent a day and a half at MCU after that, answering questions and more questions. She had given the police access to her own and Jonathan's apartments. They had seized everything they thought relevant and then some. They had scrutinized her and had an officer watch her for weeks afterward, hoping they could use her to catch Jonathan.

Joan held the pillow back to her chest and wiped her eyes. She had questions for him, but one always butted its way to the front of her mind.

_Had he ever really loved her?_

* * *

"Have you given any thought to what we discussed?" She asked sitting beside him on the couch in her apartment. Jonathan's chest felt tight and he took a breath. He knew exactly what she was asking.

She had brought up the topic of reproduction a few times and he'd disregarded it soon after the conversation had ended. He had more than enough on his plate than to worry about Joan's biological clock. Later, the thoughts would resurface and he'd become anxious, disturbed.

His grandmother's preaching would fill his head about all things moral and sinful. He could almost hear her screeching that they were living in sin and they were both going to Hell. A child out of wedlock would be equally damned, doomed before its life even began. It would be a bastard like himself.

And then there was Joan, a black woman would be wholly unacceptable to his grandmother.

"_We may have even owned her family, stay away from that blackbird,"_ she would have raged and then beat him for even thinking about her and then lock him in the church, with the crows; the blackbirds.

"I find it curious that you only bring up the subject of procreation and not marriage," he said locking his eyes on hers. She looked away and seemed to squirm with unease.

"I didn't think you wanted to get married. Sometimes it's like you're not even involved with this relationship," she'd said wringing her fingers and then meeting his gaze.

He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. The sting of rejection and white hot rage burned through him. This was why he never got involved with anyone; eventually they would reject him and make a fool of him.

His expression never changing, he patted her hands and then stood and pulled her to her feet. She blinked and looked concerned as he turned away from her and led her to her bedroom. He guided her in front of him and she took a seat at the foot of the bed looking at him quizzically.

"_Don't do this!"_ A young man's voice shouted in his head.

"Just a minute Joanie," he said leaning toward her and kissing her gently.

He turned away and made his way back to the living room where he picked up his briefcase and set it on the table. He unlatched the case and opened it, pulling from it a mask made from burlap, still very stiff as he had just recently made it, and a small aerosol canister. He activated the filter inside the mask and removed his glasses before slipping the mask over his head.

"Jonathan?" Joan's voice called, he turned toward it.

"_Don't do this!"_ The voice in his head appealed once again.

He turned off each light that he passed until he was standing in the bedroom doorway, Joan looking up at him wide-eyed.

"Jonathan?" She asked; her voice choked with surprise, fright.

He raised the canister and sprayed the gas within directly into her face. Then he set it aside and climbed on top of her. Her panic-stricken face was close to his as he watched her soft brown eyes and the tears that flowed from them. She screamed and gasped for breath as she tried to push him away. He stroked her hair as she writhed beneath him, clawing at the covers, crying.

"Oh God, no! Harold, please don't kill me, Harold!" She cried and whimpered again and again.

The dose he'd given her hadn't been very strong and she soon tired from her struggling and then lay there, talking to Harold and pleading for her life. Jonathan removed his mask and then returned it to his briefcase along with the canister and locked it up.

He undressed her to her underwear and tucked her into the bed as she usually slept. His anger sated, he undressed as well and joined her beneath the sheets and lay on his side, stroking her hair and soft skin, wondering who Harold was and why he terrified her so much.

"_That was a classic dick-move,"_ a disembodied voice scolded him.

"_You could never understand,"_ Jonathan thought as he watched Joan's face contort in a nightmare.

"_She will leave you, us, if she remembers this,"_ the voice replied and Jonathan caught a shadow in the corner of his eyes. He looked up to see the thin boy sitting on the edge of the bed beside Joan, looking down at her unhappily.

"_Don't pretend that you don't enjoy this,"_ Jonathan frowned at the younger version of himself. The boy looked back at him with his own eyes, filled with disapproval.

Forever a child, a young man, Scarecrow looked back at Joan and disappeared. Jonathan felt the surge within as Scarecrow tried to take over. He sat back and breathed deep, focusing hard until the feeling went away. Scarecrow reappeared, glaring at him darkly. Eighteen and dressed as he had been the night Jonathan had first taken a life while donning a scarecrow costume, sans mask. His hair cut close and sharp features which had changed over time as Jonathan had aged.

"_Without me, you never would have been together in the first place_," Scarecrow spat nastily. _"I've always had to step in when you couldn't handle things yourself. I found someone, and this is what you do to her."_

Jonathan closed his eyes and shut Scarecrow away, an ability that had taken years to cultivate. He didn't need that damn kid preaching to him about his relationship with Joan. Jonathan opened his eyes and touched Joan's face again, sighing. Their relationship; Scarecrow had taken the initiative to begin this romance. Jonathan had indulged him and then found himself being drawn closer, deeper into this coupling.

He fell asleep holding Joan and woke hours later when she sat up with a start, breathing hard and looking around wildly. He rubbed his eyes and sat up beside her, eager to learn what she had seen and dreamed. He touched her shoulder and she jumped and shrank away from him. He frowned and turned on the light.

"Joan," he said softly with his normal cadence. She hugged herself and then broke down in tears. He pulled her against him and shushed her, stroking her hair. "Are you alright?"

Joan sobbed for a few minutes before regaining her composure somewhat. She looked at him, seemingly embarrassed.

"I'm sorry I woke you," she said and wiped the tears from her cheeks with both hands. "I just had this dream and it seemed so real!" She was trembling and he held her, waiting for her to calm down so she could talk to him. She laid her head against him.

"Who is Harold?" He asked seemingly absently. He looked at her and she wiped away a stray tear.

"Oh, God, was I talking in my sleep? I'm sorry Jon," she lay against him and closed her eyes.

"You had a nightmare, you kept saying that name. Is someone bothering you, Joanie? Tell me what you need from me," he said in a reassuring, therapeutic tone.

"I have a terrible headache," she said. He retrieved her Midrin and some water, both of which she took before sitting cross-legged, holding her head in her hands. Jonathan was growing more impatient and decided to prompt her again. Sitting beside her, he rubbed small circles on her back.

"Joanie, is there something I should know? Who is Harold?" He prodded. She shook her head.

"Oh God, you'll think it's foolish," she said.

"I assure you I won't. Remember, Joan, this sort of thing is my specialty," he placed his hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him, her eyes were red.

"Harold isn't a person," she took a breath, "more of a boogeyman from my childhood. Harold is a Scarecrow."

* * *

"_It was a pleasure to burn,"_ the voice broke into Jonathan's thoughts as he lay back on his bed in his cell. He looked up at the figure sitting at the foot of his bed, its back against the wall and knees bent. Scarecrow looked back at him.

"_It was a pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed,"_ his young face smiled at him, his blue eyes shining from some ethereal light. _"I finally touched the sun."_

Jonathan shook his head, tired of his alters' propensity to quote literature and misinterpret mythology. Some days he wished he could shut out that voice, pull the curtain closed on that face and be left alone. He'd been humiliated by Scarecrow after he'd been institutionalized and been questioned in therapy by Ruth Adams about what he'd meant when he'd called himself 'the all-terrible God of Fear.'

Jonathan had made Ruth cry that day but hadn't found it very rewarding. Another psychiatrist had shown him the surveillance footage of his intake at Arkham. He'd sat close to the screen and seen her come to him, speak to him. He remembered none of this. His mind was in a fugue state and he knew it would take time before the reverse memories came to him. But in that time he had to tolerate the daily barrage of stares and whispers and ridiculous questions.

Joan refused to see him, and he only had Scarecrow to keep him company.

"_What did she mean by the obelisk and the ferry?"_ Scarecrow had asked when Jonathan had gained enough wherewithal to process daily life in the asylum. Once he had put together the intake tape and Scarecrow's question they had left him cold inside.

"In Greek Mythology, the family of the dead placed an obolus, a coin, on the mouth of the departed. The soul of the dead would then give the obolus to Charon, the ferryman who would then take the soul across the river Acheron to Hades," Jonathan said in a quiet voice, deciding that no one was listening to him.

"_So you have to pay to get into Hell,"_ Scarecrow opined_. "What if you didn't have this coin?"_ Jonathan shook his head.

"Then your soul was forced to wander the shore of Acheron for one hundred years," Jonathan replied. Scarecrow remained quiet for a time.

"_I had some change on me when they caught us,"_ Scarecrow said and laughed at himself. _"I get it now. So what do you think she thought when I didn't know what to say to her?"_ Jonathan did not reply.

"_We're never going to see her again, are we?"_ Scarecrow asked.

Jonathan and Scarecrow had spent the next year and a half in a bitter stalemate with the rest of Arkham. Jonathan didn't want to have anything to do with the staff as they just reminded him of everything he had lost both personally and professionally. His work had defined him. Without it, he was just another homeless criminal in the darkness of Gotham's alleys with an imaginary friend to boot. He'd continued his studies in the streets and had come across the Joker, who then became the only ally he had in Arkham; which said a lot about his life.

One afternoon he had been playing a game of chess against Scarecrow in the rec room and growing increasingly frustrated with him.

"_I'm getting better at this!"_ Scarecrow congratulated himself before Jonathan beat him in the match. Scarecrow hadn't uttered any of his disparaging remarks which he typically did and Jonathan was stilled with the silence.

"I call winner," a nasal voice said as a figure in Arkham red took a seat across from him. Jonathan looked up to see the man with curly blonde-green hair and scars emanating from the corners of his mouth. He frowned as he caught then man's dark eyes with his gaze. The other man frowned back.

"What's the matter, Scary? You don't think I can play?" The man teased and Jonathan realized who the other man was. He'd only ever seen him in make-up and cheap suits before.

The two men arranged the pieces and played every afternoon that the Joker didn't get himself locked up for some infraction. Jonathan continued to play and converse with the Joker as he was his only real peer in the asylum. Even if it did frustrate him to no end that the Joker never lost.

Scarecrow had mixed feelings on the Joker, but that was more or less due to the fact that he was a separate personality trapped within Jonathan. The two occasionally fought over control and sometimes Scarecrow won. Those were not good days.

Jonathan studied the Joker while they interacted or by the interactions he had with others. He kept notes tucked away in his books and would write up case notes on some evenings. What he didn't realize was that the Joker had been studying him as well.

"How long have you been fucking her?" Joker asked casually one day. The question had caught Jonathan completely off-guard and he nearly dropped the rook he held in his hand.

"Excuse me?" Jonathan frowned. Joker chuckled and it threatened to become a full out guffaw the longer he looked at Jonathan's face. He nodded toward the nurses' station and Jonathan's eyes followed. He saw Joan standing there, reading a form on a clipboard and rubbing her neck. He turned back to the Joker and frowned.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he spat looking at the pieces and noticed that the Joker had moved a few around. "Sad way to cheat, Joker, even for you," Jonathan said as he returned the pieces to their prior locations.

"Then why did you look?" Joker asked leaning toward him. Jonathan pushed his glasses up his nose and Joker chuckled.

"It would be a conflict of interest for a doctor to be sleeping with their patients," Jonathan moved his knight.

"Yet it happens all the time," the Joker leered at him.

"_Shove that knight up his nose!"_ Scarecrow chimed in his head.

"I don't know how Doctor Quinzel treats her patients, but then again I didn't hire her either," Jonathan replied.

"But you hired Ruth Adams," the Joker implored. Jonathan sat back and stared at him.

"Go ahead and have your little say," Jonathan gestured with his right hand before folding his arms across his chest. Joker snorted and Jonathan guessed it was because he was ruining _his_ game. Joker arranged some pieces on the board and Jonathan sighed realizing there was going to be a 'puppet show' involved.

"So you have these candidates for this position; Larry, Curly, Moe, Ruth and Joan. Each has a-maz-ing qualifications, but only one position is available. So you hire Ruth and two days later Joan shows up in your office…" Joker moved the black queen next to the white king.

"Aaaaaannnd, she slaps you and throws a chair across the room," he said hitting the king with the queen.

"So you want to know what exactly?" Jonathan took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What happened?" Joker asked holding his hands up innocently. Jonathan looked back at Joan and caught her looking at him and then she retreated to the office.

"You two do this little dance around each other and it's quite sad, really," Joker said and Jonathan turned back to him, feeling embarrassed, furious at the clown.

"I didn't know you were an expert on relationship advice," Jonathan replied.

"I just want to know what happened. Did she catch you screwing Ruth for the job? I know there is a lot of resentment between them. Or was Joan the other woman?" Joker asked. Jonathan shook his head.

"If you've been really paying attention to the gossip then you already know what happened," Jonathan replied growing frustrated. Joker shook his head.

"People say a lot of things about me and virtually none of it is true, well, anything that isn't public record," Joker said. "I'm just giving you the opportunity to get the truth out in the open."

"Fuck you," Scarecrow sneered leaning forward and pointing at the Joker, nearly poking him. Joker's eyes widened and he grinned.

"Ready to talk?" Joker asked. Scarecrow slumped in his seat and looked back at the nurses' station.

"Joan and I were together for a while," Scarecrow said. "I never did anything with Ruth. Joan was pissed off that she didn't get the job, but I didn't want her to get in the way of our plans."

"The plans to disperse the fear toxin in the city water supply," Joker said nodding. Scarecrow nodded with agreement.

Months later Jonathan looked at his alter at the end of the bed.

"_What did you tell him?"_ Jonathan asked as the partial memory cleared.

"_Nothing important,"_ Scarecrow shrugged. Jonathan got to his feet and began pacing the cell and ran his fingers through his hair while Scarecrow watched.

"_You likened yourself to Icarus, like a moth to a flame,"_ Jonathan said. _"But you didn't think that someone could snuff that flame out."_

"_What are you talking about?"_ The young man narrowed his eyes at him.

Jonathan knew that there were things that even with his life experience that Scarecrow would not understand, knowledge he didn't retain. Maturity was something that he would never have and Jonathan was trapped with the equivalent of a horny 18 year-old in his head. He could glean things that Jonathan had learned, or learn what he paid attention to through Jonathan's eyes. That was what made it so important that Jonathan retain control over his body, his mind.

Scarecrow had played into the Joker's hands.

Had he been there when Scarecrow was loose for six months, he would have done things a lot differently. He had always made discretion key in his relationship with Joan. When he had started working with Ra's al Ghul he had tried to even more.

So that she would never become a target.

Jonathan slumped back down on the bed and wouldn't look at Scarecrow. Eddie Nigma had targeted the Joker and himself. Then he had gone after the Joker and gotten Harleen Quinzel as collateral damage. Anyone who didn't see something between the two of them was living life blind.

It was only a matter of time before someone with an ax to grind against him would go after Joan.

* * *

The pounding was what woke Joan, and she sat up with a start and looked across the dimly-lit room to the door. She slipped off the chair she had been sleeping in and carefully made her way across the room. She winced as she turned on the lights and opened the door to find Ruth Adams standing there.

"Hey," Ruth said as Joan blinked at her and then held the door open for her to enter.

"I heard you had a rough morning," Ruth said sympathetically, nicotine strong on her breath.

She had been angry when Jonathan had hired Ruth instead of herself and had even gone so far as to accuse him of cheating. However, after getting to know Ruth she had learned her fears were misplaced as there were obvious personality clashes. And Ruth's smoking. Jonathan disliked being in the same room with someone who was smoking, let alone have sex with them.

"Yeah," Joan replied, smoothing at wrinkles in her clothes that would not disappear so easily.

"So things went well?" Ruth asked while she absently winding a lock of brown hair around her finger.

"What's up?" Joan asked cautiously. Ruth blew out a long breath.

"The guys in max security are saying that he wants to talk to you," Ruth replied. Joan looked at the clock and shook her head.

"He'll have to wait it out until Monday," Joan said grabbing her purse.

"I'll let them know," Ruth nodded in agreement.

Joan locked her office door behind her and she and Ruth parted ways. Joan hummed to herself to distract herself from the empty hallways and thoughts of the man downstairs who wanted to see her. She reached her car without incident and slipped inside. She set her purse on the passenger seat and then turned the key in the ignition.

* * *

A/N: "Harold" is an urban legend and featured in the book; "Scary Stories 3: More Tales to Chill Your Bones" by Alvin Schwartz and Stephen Gammell.

"_It was a pleasure to burn,_ _it was a pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed."_ Is the opening sentence of the book; "Fahrenheit 451" by Ray Bradbury.

I didn't invent Greek Mythology.

Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing. There is more to come.


	24. Everyone Likes to Dance to a Happy Song

A/N: Dr. Thomas Elliot is based on the likeness of actor Peter Facinelli. Oswald Cobblepot is based on the likeness of Philip Seymour Hoffman.

* * *

Harleen Quinzel sat on the edge of her bed, swinging her legs and growing more impatient by the minute. Judith sat on a chair beside her and sighed.

"I guess it's true what they say about doctors making the worst patients," she said and Harleen shot her a look.

"I'm fine, thanks," Harleen snapped and crossed her arms. She wanted to get out of this gown, this bed and home where she could lock her doors and windows and pretend that she hadn't made the worst mistake in her life the day before.

Judith pulled out her cell phone and sent a text message before looking back at her sister.

"I'm sure that will take mom half an hour to figure out," Judith chuckled. She had sent their mother downstairs to wait for Harleen and get the car when they were ready to go. Detective Nashton hadn't been happy about the idea, but they were all a little tired of being in the presence of law enforcement. Plus, Harleen had the creeping suspicion that Nashton could read minds as he had been picking apart everything she said for the past day. He said he liked puzzles, but Harleen did not want him to find the solution to this one.

"_Shouldn't you be out looking for the Joker, or that Riddler guy?" Harleen had asked. He had tapped his cane a few times in thought and looked at her._

"_Riddler you say?" He said absently._

Someone at GPD had leaked the mysterious note sent to law enforcement prior to the Joker's hearing and the press was having a field day with it. It was as if they were excited about having _another_ named villain loose in the city. The whole business made Harleen queasy, especially since she had been the one who had unleashed the Joker.

What in God's name _had_ she been thinking? She had given him the upper hand over the police and herself. One slip of the tongue and her career was over and she would be facing a very long prison sentence.

"Doctor Quinzel, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I'm Doctor Elliot," the young man said as he entered the room. Harleen had started and then smiled at the somewhat familiar face. He was handsome and tall with blue eyes and short dark brown hair.

He looked over her chart and did a preliminary check of her vitals. Once the spots had cleared from her eyes from his light, she realized where she had seen his face before.

"Has anyone told you that you look like Bruce Wayne?" She asked, feeling a little silly. He smiled at that.

"Actually, Bruce Wayne is a very good friend of mine," he replied and patted her on the shoulder. "It looks like you are good to go, Doctor Quinzel."

"Harley," she said. He frowned and she smiled. "Call me Harley, everyone else does."

"Alright then, Harley, I'll have the nurse bring in your prescriptions with your discharge paperwork. It was nice to meet you," he said, gently squeezing her upper arm and smiling kindly.

"About time," Harleen whispered once he'd left the room and then looked at her sister's peeved expression. "What?"

"What is it with all the cute professionals flirting with you?" Judith asked shaking her head. Harleen looked around.

"If you remember, the Joker did kiss me. I think Karma is trying to make that up to me," Harleen said in a hushed voice. The sisters laughed.

Harleen changed into the clothes Judith brought her. She slipped on the gauze blouse accented with hand sewn vines and flowers and jeans with red and black diamonds embroidered on them before pulling on a tan sweater jacket. Harleen scrutinized herself in the mirror and raised an eyebrow at her sister who shrugged.

"I'm hoping to inspire a change in the dress code at Arkham," Judith smiled while she pulled on her own jacket and grabbing her purse.

The nurse came ten minutes later and the sisters were beyond ready to leave. Judith looked at the weird text message their mother had sent to her and looked at Harleen.

"So, which one of us is going to piss her off when we tell her she has to hang with me before she gets on the train this afternoon?" Judith made a face. Harleen dropped her head and Judith grabbed her arm.

"It's okay Harl, you've had more than enough time around people and need some time for yourself. Besides, I'm good at pissing off our folks." Judith grabbed the wheelchair an orderly brought in and Harleen climbed into it. Judith tilted her head at the orderly and gave him a wry grin.

"Excuse me, I want to drive," she said.

* * *

Oswald Cobblepot strode into his new establishment, "The Iceberg Lounge." He'd wanted to make the place a classier joint than his last business which had become more of a fraternal order of mobsters who gathered there for their meetings. All it had taken was a sizable insurance policy and a match lit by a loose cannon disguised as a clown to get him his new place.

Oswald walked over to a light fixture and examined its crystalline form through his monocle. He spied a mirror behind it, running the length of the bar and observed himself within it. Stocky, overweight and with thinning blonde hair, he wasn't the most attractive man in Gotham. But money talks and it isn't always trashy women who answer.

He looked along the bar and saw a man hunched over at the other end, cigarette smoke drifting up from an ashtray in front of him and a whiskey glass in his hand. Oswald cleared his throat and approached the man.

"Excuse me, we are not open for business," Oswald said in a pinched voice. That along with his laugh had earned him a rather undesirable nickname.

"You're always open for me, Penguin," the man replied quietly, setting down his glass and taking a drag from his cigarette. Cobblepot made a face and was reaching out to grab the blonde man's shoulder when he suddenly turned toward him. Cobblepot stopped with his hand still in the air.

"Joker?" He asked, his brows raised with surprise. The other man shrugged and dropped his cigarette into the half-finished drink.

"Looks like I'm gonna need another one, Oswald," Joker half-grinned. Cobblepot was at a loss as he'd never seen the man bare-faced in person before. Joker nodded toward the main seating area.

"Nice place, what, cat got your tongue?" Joker said tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.

"You, I just didn't recognize you at first," Cobblepot sputtered and Joker laughed in the way that only he could while shaking his head.

"Yeah, that. Well, everyone's running around looking for some guy dressed like a clown and I've always been pretty good at hiding in plain sight. Besides, that stuff is bad for your skin," Joker chuckled. "I, uh, am still gonna need that drink, Oswald and I need you to talk to your staffing department."

* * *

Judith parked her car behind the two-story brick building where she both lived and worked. She and her mother headed up the stairs of the back stoop and Judith unlocked the back door and entered. She closed her eyes and took in the smell of fabric and smiled while her mother headed to the storefront. Judith opened her eyes and followed, walking to the front door to unlock it and turn the card from "Closed" to "Open."

She turned to find her mother digging through the rack of wedding gowns and Judith's heart sank when she pulled one out and held it out to her disapprovingly.

"This is Harleen's," her mother said, her voice still carrying the undercurrent of anger. "How could you sell it?"

"She told me to," Judith mused.

"Well that's not going to happen," her mother snapped and carried the dress to the back room.

She made a beeline to the rack where Judith kept clothing she made for family. Her mother shoved the rest of the bagged clothes to the side and hung the dress on the rack and carefully smoothed it. Judith saw the sadness on her mother's face and approached her, placing a hand on her shoulder turning the woman to face her and then embraced her.

"Harleen will meet someone and she's going to need that dress," her mother said, her voice shaking.

"I know mom," Judith said rubbing her mother's back and feeling ill about the man who had sent Harleen flowers the day before. She had a feeling _that_ union wouldn't be a white wedding.

"Are you okay, mom?" Judith asked pulling away. Her mother nodded and Judith squeezed her arm.

"I have something I need to finish for a client; can you mind the store for a bit?" Judith asked. Her mother's brow knitted and she looked at Judith suspiciously.

"Can't you do that down here?" She asked and Judith averted her gaze.

"It's a special order that has been in storage for a while. I need to check it out and make sure that it hasn't been damaged," Judith replied.

"Well that's why you _always_ use moth balls!" Her mother planted her hands on her hips and shook her head. "Okay, but you need to come down if someone has a credit card."

Judith nodded and bounded up the stairs, glancing through a few of the risers where you could see inside the front room and the two changing stalls, the stairs creaking underfoot. She had been meaning to get them replaced. She reached her spare room and felt a stone drop in her stomach as she reached the wardrobe. She turned the knob and pulled the large black bag from its place and carried it over to the empty rack and hung it up. From the wardrobe she withdrew another bag, smaller but wider and hung that up as well.

She drew a breath and felt dizzy as she unzipped the large bag and spread it open, revealing a long, royal purple coat. She pulled it from the bag and hung it by its own hanger and inspected the garment. The burnt orange lining and seams were flawless. The pockets lining the inside matched the carefully drawn diagram her client had given her. She took the lapels in each hand and ran her fingers down the length of them, relishing the touch of the fabric. She inspected one of the sleeves and touched the five buttons at the end where the sleeves flared out. It was a beautiful piece, like the first one and she hated that she would have to relinquish it to a man who would hold as little regard to it as the lives he would take while wearing it.

She had kept this secret for far too long, but what could she say? A man named Joseph Kerr came into her shop one day and requested a very specific garment. He had paid in cash and had left no contact information. The fact that the name he gave was a play on the name Joker would not have benefited anyone.

She had debated calling the Police after he had escaped from the hospital and they could have staked out her shop, waiting for him. But she had a feeling that would have ended badly for everyone involved. He had killed an entire crew he robbed a bank with; he certainly would make short work of a seamstress and a couple of cops. And that was supposing that they even believed her story. After this long they would probably see her as a crackpot with a creative touch who whipped up this garment based on pictures she found on the internet.

The worst part had been not being able to tell Harleen about any of it. After what the Joker had done to her, Judith felt like she had betrayed her sister in a deep, fundamental way. She could never tell her the truth; it would be the end of their relationship and tear their family apart.

Judith ran to her toilet and began throwing up.

* * *

Harleen snuffed out her cigarette before drawing another from the pack and lighting it. She'd been home for hours and her seclusion began in the midst of a guilt trip that only a Jewish mother could give. She had sat down on her couch and dumped the contents of her purse onto the coffee table.

The same way he had.

From the crap she for some reason deemed essential enough to endlessly tote around with her she had pulled her cigarette pack and lighter and had commenced smoking. She was now down to her last one which meant she was about to have to make some decisions.

Would she shower now for the first time in days? Hospitals weren't known for such amenities for patients. She scratched her greasy hair and wondered if Doctor Elliot hadn't been so much flirting with her as pitying her for her drab, sad appearance.

Would she just walk down to the corner store as she was, or call upon a neighbor to borrow some more cigarettes?

She hadn't bothered turning on the television, she didn't want to know what they were saying. The best she could hope for was that Joker hadn't already done something horrendous.

Shot up a bank as he robbed it.

Blown up another city building.

Taken an elementary school hostage for another "social experiment."

She hoped it would take him more time to get organized than this. Perhaps his heart would give out on him before he had the chance.

Harleen wiped fresh tears from her cheeks with the hand not holding her last cigarette. A knock sounded on her front door and she looked at it with suspicion.

Was he _that_ brazen?

After another series of knocks, Harleen rose and looked through the peep hole and felt unease pull her stomach tight. She unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door as wide as the chain would allow.

"Yes?" She asked her former fiancée harshly with narrowed eyes. She took a drag from her cigarette and tilted her head back blew the smoke up in the air.

"Harley," he said and then just stared at her. The features she had once found wildly attractive now seemed bland, uninteresting. He was just another guy; and one who cheated on his women to boot.

"Does Caitlyn know you're here?" She asked tilting her head to the side. He shook his head no. Harleen rolled her eyes.

"God Harley, you're a mess," he said mournfully. She took a breath and knew he was referencing her gallery of bruises from the past few weeks and lack of hygiene from her hospital stay. But there was more to it than that and she knew it.

"Do you have any cigarettes?" She asked. He blinked, confused and then shook his head.

"I wanted to see how you are…" his voice drifted away with his statement.

"I'm great; have a lot going for me. I have a new man in my life and let me tell you, he's a _real_ killer." She said and then began laughing, smiling and would have clapped him on the shoulder if the chain would have allowed it. Brian looked profoundly confused.

"Harley…" he began but she cut him off.

"You have more than worn out your welcome with me Brian. Go home to your wife or new girlfriend or whoever. And make sure that you keep an eye over your shoulder 'cause my guy? He's the jealous type." She grinned and slammed the door in his face.

"Harley!" He called through the door as she locked it.

She waltzed to the bathroom and plugged the tub drain before opening both taps fully. She put out her cigarette and began stripping off her clothes.

She drizzled in some bath salts before padding back to the kitchen. The front window was open and the lights were on, but she didn't care if anyone was watching. She still had a nice body and it had been a long time since anyone had seen it beside herself.

She poured wine from a box in the refrigerator into a jelly glass and headed back to her bathroom. She closed the taps and took a drink before stepping into the bathtub and submerged her body in the water. She took two handfuls of water and poured them over her hair and took another drink from her glass.

She laid her head back against the cool tile and stared blankly at the dripping faucet. A serene smile made its way across her lips. She didn't close her eyes as she slipped wholly beneath the surface.

* * *

A/N: Thomas Elliot first appeared in "Batman #609." Oswald Cobblepot first appeared in "Detective Comics #58."

Thank you for your continued readership and reviews. This is the first part of a monster chapter.

I recently broke several ribs and writing is still a little uncomfortable. It's called "Method Writing."


	25. Like Heaven to Touch

Judith returned to her shop and unhappily unlocked the door, closing it hard behind her once she was inside. She flipped on the first floor lights, leaving the storefront closed and walked to the mini fridge to get a soda. She popped the tab and took a drink.

"Nice night," a voice spoke from behind her. Startled, she dropped the can, spilling its contents on the floor as gooseflesh covered her skin. She blinked a couple of times and drew a deep breath before slowly turning around.

Perched upon the table before her, swinging his legs was the Joker, dressed similarly to the way she had seen him before as a customer. Just a guy dressed in jeans and a jacket with some terrible scars on his face. He'd given her a sob story, and she'd been taken in by his strange charm; his almost hypnotic gaze. Harleen had told her once that sociopaths tended to be very charming.

Judith reigned in her fear as best as she could and stared at him, her eyes naturally wide open. She remembered him commenting on her eyes before, how _interesting_ they had been.

"I assume you are here for your suit. It's ready. It's upstairs." She said trying not to sound frightened. He grinned at her and she felt sick.

"You look like your sister," he said casually and she felt frozen in place. "Tell me, do you have anything for her too?" Her mouth opened slightly and she nodded.

He knew Harley was her sister. Her mind raced and she remembered Harley's story about his visit in her office. She had showed him her photographs.

He hopped off of the table energetically and grabbed her wrist in one hand; stepping to stand behind her while he took her other wrist. He slowly spun them around in place, their bodies touching and making her dizzy from the fear and proximity to this monster.

"Where are her things?" He said, one of his lips catching her earlobe as he spoke. Her stomach lurched.

"Why?" She croaked as she tried to pull away, he tightened his grip in response.

"She intrigues me," he said closer than before his breath hot on her skin. She closed her eyes like when she was a kid, wishing the Boogeyman away. "Does she know about _us_?" He asked suggestively. Judith snapped back into reality and wrenched herself from his grip. He chuckled in response.

"Oh, now that is _interesting_. The secrets that sisters keep from each other. Tell me, Marley, how does it feel when you look at Harley knowing all the things I've done to her, knowing that you made such a nice suit for me? Hmmm?" He reached for her again and she backed away. She glanced at the rack and pointed.

"There!" She said, feeling sick and angry and knowing there was nothing she could do. He would most likely trash the place until he found what he wanted if she didn't show him.

His eyes followed the direction she indicated and she walked over to the rack with him on her heels. She grabbed the wedding dress from the rack that her mother had 'rescued' hours before and shoved it into his arms.

"That was _supposed_ to be her wedding gown, but then _you_ came along. You ruined her life!" She shouted. Joker held up the garment and looked at it curiously. His eyes flicked to hers.

"She's engaged?" He asked passively as he turned the dress around.

"Not anymore!" She snapped and folded her arms across her chest defensively.

"Hmmm, then she doesn't need _this_ anymore," he said disinterested and dropped the dress on the floor and walked across it to the rack. He pulled at the tags tied at the tops of the hangers, reading the names before drawing another garment from the rack.

The red and black dress she'd made for Harley. He looked it over and then looked at her.

"Does this one have a story too?" He asked sarcasm in his tone. Judith sighed.

"I just wanted to make something nice for her," she said and he chewed at his cheek and nodded.

He replaced it and then flipped through a couple more garments before stopping and staring before moving in closer. He pulled the red and black bodysuit from the rack. He turned it around and lifted a sleeve, feeling the fabric in his fingers.

"And this?" He asked curiously, touching a trio of diamonds with his index finger.

"Harley is dancing in the Gotham Ballet production of 'The Nutcracker.' She's the harlequin." Judith looked at his face as he studied the costume and frowned, puzzled.

"The Nutcracker, how appropriate," he said passively. Hearing him say the words made her realize the irony, a smile crept across her lips and she chuckled. He looked at her.

"I would like my suit now," He said and Judith raced up the creaking stairs.

* * *

Joker placed the harlequin costume back on the rack and opened a zippered bag which hung beside it, containing ruffled wrist and neck collars, gloves and a red and black hood. The hood had two lilliripes with bells attached at the ends. The front came down over the forehead and ended with eye holes like a mask. He looked over the costume, the high waist and diamond patterns placed high on the arms and the thighs. Harley would look good when she wore her harlequin costume.

And she would wear it for him.

His Harley Quinn.

The stairs creaked behind him and he turned slowly to face Marley, who carried a black bag and looked between him and Harley's costume. She hung the bag on an empty rack and removed its contents, spreading them across the rack. When she had finished she turned back to him, wearing an angry expression.

"I want you to stay away from her," she ordered, mustering all the bravado she could. He laughed and pushed past her to inspect his clothes.

"Nice work," he said as he removed his jacket and pulled his shirt off over his head.

"Hey!" Marley not so much as cried, but squeaked. He glanced at her annoyed.

"There are changing stalls," she said and swallowed. He disregarded her and finished undressing and saw her turn away fully, bringing a wicked grin to his face.

"Perhaps I will have to find another set of sisters to fulfill my _fantasies_," he purred at her and watched her hug herself defensively.

Someone knocked on the front door. Both of them looked at the front of the shop and Joker turned to his seamstress as he tucked his shirt into his pants.

"I thought you were closed," he said annoyed. People may have to die that night, but he hadn't intended to start there.

Another round of unanswered knocks was followed by the sound of the door unlocking. Marley gasped and looked between the door and Joker. She shooed him further into the back and looked at the front with a frightened expression.

"Judy?" Harley's voice carried through the quiet rooms. Marley looked at Joker and he grinned, barely able to contain his laughter.

"Stay back here," was her whispered command. She smoothed her hair and walked to the front while Joker took his time dressing, making unnecessary inspections of his clothes.

"Harley, what are you doing here?" Marley asked her sister with forced annoyance. Joker once again bit his tongue.

"You told me that you finished the dress, I wanted to come and get it," Harley replied.

"I thought you were staying home," Marley said. Joker crept toward the front and peered at the unfolding drama.

"I decided to go out," Harley said in a tone he knew well. She was pissed off. "I've spent enough time cooped up at home, or at the hospital, or Arkham. Delicate little Harley has to stay in a little box like a little China doll. She's so fragile that everyone has to protect her."

Harley's face was flushed red and Marley's mouth moved silently.

"You know what? I don't even know why anymore! I can't spend the rest of my life hiding from what might happen to me. I've spent the past year in a little room with the most dangerous man Gotham's ever seen and look at me! I'm just fine! Yeah, he's out there somewhere but damned if I'm going to live my life afraid he's going to pop out from around the next corner!" Harley brushed her blonde hair out of her face and swept it behind her ears and shoulders.

Marley looked toward the back room and Harley saw her and peered in his direction as well, frowning. Then she sighed and shook her head derisively.

"Oh, you have a man back there, right? Well, I won't trouble you, _sis_. Just get the damn dress and I'll leave you with Prince Charming." Harley snapped. Marley slapped her and Harley's hand flew to her cheek and her mouth dropped open. Judith stared at her hand as if it had acted on its own.

Joker smiled amused.

"Oh God, Harley," Judith said slowly. "I didn't mean to, I don't know what…" she stammered and Harley grabbed her shoulders and sniffed while tears fell from her eyes.

"It's okay," Harley choked and then wiped her face. "We've been through a lot, it's perfectly rational. Perfectly rational." She looked at her feet, her blonde hair falling in her face and obscuring her features.

"I'll get the dress," Judith said distantly and walked into the back room.

She glared at Joker as she passed him; he ignored her and focused on Harley. She stood bent slightly like a puppet with her strings hung loosely, the fire from a few moments before snuffed by her sisters' blow. Marley strode past him with the dress and Harley looked up and smiled faintly.

Marley hung it in one of the changing stalls and Harley followed, closing the door once her sister left. Marley stood in front of the door, protectively. Joker grinned and looked at the stairs. He quietly climbed a couple of steps, just enough to see the show.

Harley shed her red overcoat and kicked off her low black leather boots. She unbuttoned her black blouse and slid it off, revealing a black lace bra. Joker leaned against the railing, taking in her creamy bare skin from the back and the mirrors reflection of her chest.

Her small breasts filled out the cups of the bra nicely; round and enough to fill a man's hand. She slid off her blue jeans which had diamonds embroidered on them. Most likely by Marley's hand.

Joker took in her slender legs, toned yet not enough that it was overtly obvious. Harley reached behind and unhooked her bra and deftly removed it. Joker raised his brows as she turned his way, toward where the dress hung and he was given a full view of Doctor Quinzel's nearly naked body.

She was quite pleasing to look at and he felt stirring warmth as his body responded to what he saw. Almost a shivering came over him and a relaxed smile crept across his scarred lips.

She pulled on the dress and it began to enhance her form, her natural beauty as she tried to zip it closed. He would have liked to help if he knew she wouldn't fall over at his sudden appearance, most likely shrieking and ruining the whole mood for him.

It seemed worth it.

She left the stall and Marley helped zip the dress closed and Harley seemed to float to the three mirrors angled about one another and stepped up before them. She examined her appearance and took in breaths and exhaled, poking her flat belly. She scrutinized herself the way every woman does, and while the act annoyed him in the past with Jeannie, Harley seemed cute.

He was by no means comparing the two women as he had with others since his wife's death. He held no allusions that the women were anything alike. They were blue-eyed blondes, but that was where the similarities ended.

Jeannie had loved the idea of who he was. Even when the truth had been revealed, he knew she continued to fantasize that she was living that idea, and when reality set in she hurt herself.

Harley. Harley knew what he was about.

He watched Harley twirl before the mirror and listened to her laugh and knew he could never make her happy. She may be under the delusion that she cared for him, but ultimately he had hurt her in ways she would not ever be able to get past. The crumpled wedding gown behind him was symbolic in that Harleen Quinzel would never again see life and love as she had before she met him.

And that was his cue.

Joker pulled on his long purple overcoat and cleared his throat theatrically as he entered the front of the store. A smile crept wide across his face as Harley's eyes caught his.

"_Hello Beautiful_," he purred.

* * *

A/N: Hello Constant Readers! Thank you all for reading and reviewing and leaving me messages, they have been greatly appreciated. Your patience has been appreciated as well. I've had some health problems and spent some time out of state with my parents and then just started a new job last week. I have a lot of work written and am in editing with 3 of these stories. I hope you've enjoyed this part.


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